April 6, 2018 at 1:53 p.m.
REFLECTION
Ice skates for Jack
My mother always provided for her five children, doing the best she could. We were indeed borderline poor, but if a mother's nurturing warmth, love and indomitable spirit counted for anything, then we were filthy rich.
That winter, Mom worked long hours at Kresge's five-and-dime store in Troy. Despite that, I never once heard her complain about having to tote innumerable bags of groceries onto the bus, up three blocks and then up three flights of stairs on Lincoln Avenue.
On Dec. 22, she lost her wallet, it having fallen from her purse while walking down Congress Street in Troy. It contained nine dollars. The money had been earmarked for five small gifts, one for each of her children.
Mom was very upset, but naively believed that the wallet would be found and returned to her.
The very next day, while at work, she was approached by an 11-year-old boy. His face was dirty and his clothes had seen better days, but he beamed with pride. His name was Jack Howell, and, after introducing himself, he reached into his torn coat pocket and brought forth Mom's wallet.
"I found this on the street," he said. "Inside is a pay stub from Kresge's, and so I figured you must work here. I asked the man up front if you were here and he pointed you out to me. So anyway, now you got your wallet back, lady."
My mother stood there, unable to speak. Finally, she hugged Jack for all he was worth. She guided Jack to a stool at the lunch counter and got him Richardson's Root Beer and popcorn. Jack said he was an orphan who lived at Vanderheyden Hall in Troy.
That evening, Mom gave us the scoop on Jack Howell. The crowning moment of her story revolved around asking Jack what he'd like for Christmas: He'd broken eye contact, looking away. Evidently, this was a sore subject.
Mom repeated her question. Eventually, he shrugged: "I don't need anything."
"Isn't there anything that you would really want, if, say, you had one magic wish?" Mom asked.
"Well, ice skates would be nice, but I...well, I don't really need them. Heck, I can slide around on the ice, wearing just my shoes, better than any of the other kids can, and some of them even have skates! But it'll never happen. They cost way too much."
Story over, it seemed to six-year-old me. I was wrong.
"This poor boy has nothing, yet when faced with what was, to him, a small fortune, what did Jack do?" Mom asked us. "He returned the wallet, with nothing missing from it, to its rightful owner! Can you think of a more deserving child than Jack?"
We all shook our heads.
"I think I should spend the nine dollars on ice skates for Jack. The only catch is this: If I do, then each of you will be going without some little extra gifts."
I wasn't looking forward to losing out on a gift. I pouted; then I cried, stamping my feet for effect. Then I resorted to flat-out begging. Mom gave me an earful.
"Now, Billy, how would you like it if you got almost nothing under the Christmas tree?"
"I wouldn't like that at all," I admitted, and gave in: "Yeah, sure, buy him the ice skates."
When Christmas Day arrived, I was knee-deep in wrapping paper and delight when I heard Bob say he was off to pick up Jack Howell. Unbeknownst to me, Mom had arranged with Vanderheyden Hall to have Jack spend the day with us.
Forty minutes later, Jack entered our cold-water flat, his blue eyes instantly honing in on our gaily-bedecked, seven-foot-tall Christmas tree, his expression one of awe. I have to believe it was the first time he'd ever seen one. He sat down on the rug, staring up at it.
When he finally managed to stir himself from his trance, it was to accept a wrapped shoebox from Mom. Even then, I somehow sensed the significance of the moment as Jack grasped the package tightly in his hands, which were shaking quite a bit.
Mom gently prodded Jack to unwrap the gift. He lifted the lid from the box and there, in all their chrome-plated glory, were the ice skates he had dreamed of owning.
I can't even begin to describe the emotions we were all experiencing at that moment. Jack's eyes brimmed with tears of joy and gratitude - a young boy experiencing emotions that, up until then, had been foreign to him.
I don't know what became of Jack, but I fervently hope that his adult life was - and hopefully continues to be - one of abundant happiness, sunny days and gentle nights.
(Mr. Daubney attends Cathedral parish in Albany.)[[In-content Ad]]
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