This morning I rushed off to Filene’s basement for a special one-day sale of 25% off. I had to get there. It started at 7 AM. I was there at 7:01 AM.
I rushed from department to department. Each time I was ready to leave, I would come across another deal that I couldn’t refuse. Some 45 minutes later and several hundred dollars later, I literally bumped my huge Christmas bag at the door. I was huffing and puffing.
I looked at my watch and saw that it was 8 AM and remember that there was a mass at the Paulist Center on Park Street. I missed the sermon, but that was okay because I had missed most of them my whole adult life. A collection was taken and rather than give my usual one dollar contribution, I threw in $20 out of shopping guilt.
I sat there thinking and recalled an earlier Christmas – 1985. I think. Things were similar for me then. I was in a rush. I had my gifts in hand. It was 530 or 6 PM on Christmas Eve at Haymarket Square. It was dark; stalls were lit only by their unprotected lightbulbs and the light snow was beginning to accumulate on the wet cobblestones.
I was late, waiting impatiently in line for a fish dealer to service customers. Finally, I was second in line; a little old lady was in front of me. Soon I will be gone. But she couldn’t make up her mind. I wanted to yell at her. I was double parked and had to face the traffic on the Southeast Expressway. “Please just do it,” I said to myself.
Finally, after much deliberation, she selected a piece of swordfish. The vendor weighed in. He told her it was $6.50. She started slowly counting out her coins from a small purse. She was two dollars short. The vendor started to yell at her. She didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to say.
Finally, I spoke. “I will pay for her fish.”
He gave her the fish. I ordered mine. I paid and as I turned away I noticed that she was still there. She turned to me and put her weathered hand on my forearm and said, “thank you.” You have been so very kind to someone like me. I remember you in my prayers.”
I barely responded. I ran to my car, checked my windshield for a ticket and rushed home for a Christmas Eve dinner with my family.
It was the next day when the children had finished opening their gifts that the old woman came into my mind. I started thinking about her and I realized that my Christmas had taken place at Haymarket Square the previous night. It had been a beautiful moment, that in my haste, I almost missed.
It was a simple two-dollar gift, given for the wrong reason, but it was has stayed with me all these years. Have I learned from that encounter? Here I am 32 years later, still rushing and clutching my Christmas gifts.
Each Christmas I think of that woman. She had few material things, but she projected an inner peace. I wonder what became of her. She is probably gone now but her gift left a lasting mark on me.
Originally published in Sunday’s Boston Globe, December 1997.
Jim Barry lives in Chestertown.
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