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"Gifts From The Heart" Contest
Runners-up
There are 10 Runner-up Prizes
from Books Are Fun and Geezer.com
Each runner-up receives a
$100 book gift certificate from Books Are Fun AND
a specially handcrafted keepsake from Geezer.com.
Books Are Fun, a Reader's Digest Company, is the leading
display marketer of the finest adult and children's books.
It is proud to be a partner in nearly 65,000 schools across
North America. The dynamic school program offers
high quality, deeply discounted books, gift items, and
supplemental educational materials. This partnership
allows schools to earn free books and educational
materials for their libraries and classrooms.
To learn more, visit www.booksarefun.com
Geezer.com artisan Mary Martin has created a
beautifully handmade keepsake heart cushion inspired
by the one in Something to Remember Me By.
Purchase the book and heart cushion set exclusively
through Geezer.com -- a great gift for children,
grandchildren, mothers, and grandmothers.
Geezer.com offers unique, quality handcrafted gifts,
apparel, and keepsakes made by older adult artisans.
Operated by Experience Works, a nonprofit
organization, it provides senior artisans
with the opportunity to supplement their income,
launch new businesses, expand the market for their
handcrafted goods, change negative stereotypes about
aging, and improve their lives through meaningful activity.
Get hundreds of wonderful gift ideas by visiting
www.geezer.com
AND all runners-up receive...
A gold-framed keepsake award certificate
from Intercraft and a specially autographed copy of the
NEW Keepsake Edition of Something to Remember Me By,
a great gift book about love and legacies --
and the book that inspired the national Legacy Project
Runner-up winners also receive a copy of the
Celebrating the Family book and the new
Family Tree Maker 11 software from MyFamily.com.
Congratulations to all the Runner-up Winners...
Carolyn R. Conte, 56, Venice, FL:
In 1981, I accepted a job in a special education class as a teacher's assistant. Little did I know that this job would change my life. All the children were from poverty-stricken homes as I had been as a child, which helped me relate to them. I had never considered being a teacher. I had a teacher once tell me that I would never amount to anything because of where I came from. Words leave scars on one's heart and mind that last a lifetime.
Timmy, one of my students, was nine years old. He totally lacked self-confidence. His best friend and only toy was a teddy bear that he carried in his book bag. Every day I said, "Timmy, I have faith in you. You can do anything you want to, if you put your mind to it."
Two years passed; it was time for me to move on.
My last day in that classroom was sad because I had grown so fond of the twelve challenges. Timmy was the saddest of all. As he said goodbye, he handed me his teddy bear and insisted I keep it forever. I did not want to take the child's only toy, but his eyes begged me to do so.
As Timmy handed me my greatest gift he told me I was the best teacher in the whole world because I was the only one in his life that had faith in him. I realized then that somehow, someway, I would earn the title of teacher.
I graduated from college with my B.S. Degree in Elementary Education on December 15, 2003. Timmy's bear attended my graduation. Thank you Timmy for telling me I could do it -- and now I officially have the title you gave me in 1981.
Lorinda Gamson, 32, Tampa, FL:
It was Christmas Eve and the domestic violence shelter was full of women and their children.
As a children's case manager, I had the overwhelming, yet fun and fulfilling, job of helping to make sure all 45 children living there had a merry Christmas. My co-workers and I had spent weeks helping the children make wish lists, sorting through donations to pick the perfect gifts, and helping mothers wrap presents.
Now it was past midnight and I was ready to go home for a little rest. Unfortunately, domestic violence doesn't take holidays and a new client with her three children arrived at the shelter that night. We found out the children's ages and made another trip to the warehouse. While the mother tried her best to get settled into the shelter, the gifts were wrapped and placed in the dining room with everyone else's. The mother was busy tending to her children and filling out paperwork.
The next morning, the children and their mother came to breakfast. These children saw all the other kids opening their presents and shouting with excitement. I realized that they had no idea that there were gifts for them too. I went up to the family and asked the oldest, "What's your name?" Then I told the children, "I think Santa left your presents right there."
I will never ever forget the look of joy, of amazement, of pure awe on that mother's face. Her oldest son kept saying over and over, "I told you he would find us Mom, I told you Santa would find us!"
At that moment, that mother BELIEVED in Santa -- and from that moment on I have believed that was the best gift I ever gave AND received.
Sharon Cook, 50, Beverly, MA:
Like many young people in the sixties, I questioned "organized religion." When I stopped attending church, my mother was disappointed. She tried, over the years, to lure me back, with no luck.
When my mother passed away, I donated her clothes to the church thrift shop. Not long after that, on Christmas Eve, I decided to attend their midnight service.
Snow was falling that night. Inside the church, candles flickered, casting a dim glow. Wind rattled the windows. The organist's mournful notes and the late hour contributed to a sense of melancholy. As a result, I was filled with regret. For years my mother had invited me to midnight service on Christmas Eve. I always had excuses: it was too late, too cold, too far to drive. How ironic that I should finally be attending. If only she could see me, I thought.
The last stragglers arrived, the cold air clinging to them. An elderly lady moved down the length of the pew until she was sitting directly in front of me. Something about her coat caught my attention. It was similar to my mother's, the one I'd donated to the church, a tan tweed with a worn fur collar.
When the woman removed her coat I spotted an identifying mark. My mother had always sewn strips of white elastic inside our coat collars in order to hang them on hooks. Incredibly, this stranger's coat had the same telltale strip.
At that moment the rear doors swung open. The choir, dressed in red robes, burst through singing "Joy to the World." When the congregation rose, joining in song, their voices were loud, joyous.
None was as loud or as joyous as mine.
Olesya Lashchuk, 9, Utica, NY:
Not long before Christmas, when I was in church, we were told that if you want to make a Christmas gift for poor people you could. I thought that sounded fun -- and you get a big sticker to remember it. I asked my sister if she wanted to do the gift with me and she agreed.
You had to buy everything new. I had some money and my sister did too. You had to pick if you wanted a girl or a boy, and my sister and I picked a girl. We are girls and it's easier to do a girl's gift if you are a girl.
We had to put things in a shoebox and wrap the box. My sister and a cousin went to the store and bought all the things that we could put into the shoebox. When they came back my sister showed us all the things she bought. They were: a jump rope, bouncy ball, teddy bear, candy, purse with a brush, mirror and comb, and a notebook (so we also put in some pencils and a sharpener). The things fit perfectly into the shoebox.
The next time we went to church, we brought the shoebox in and gave it to the people in charge of the program. The shoeboxes that other people had brought went all over the world to the poor people. The children will be so happy because they never got a Christmas present before.
We should be thankful and happy that we get Christmas presents every year because a lot of poor people do not have enough money to buy Christmas presents like we do. We should be thankful for everything we have because some children don't even have parents.
Colleen Carey, 43, Tryon, NC:
Several years ago, my father sat with me in our living room and began to reminisce about his boyhood. He spoke of many memories, but the most cherished one was of a door in the basement to his childhood home. This was where his mother had lovingly marked the heights of her three boys as they'd grown from babies to young men.
In thick, lead pencil, she'd scrawled their names and labeled their progress. It was a rite of passage; a mother's greatest achievement. And, when my grandmother passed away, no one thought to copy the etchings and save them to memory. My father wept to recall how he'd stood in the threshold of that door and saw his childhood pass on the day the house was sold.
I wrote to the new owners after that night, and told the story of my father's remembrances. I asked that they make a copy of the markings and mail them to me, providing the door was still intact. Three days later, the owner phoned to say that not only had he kept the door exactly as it always was, he'd taken the door down and mailed it to us for my father.
There was a tearful silence the moment my father saw the aging notations left by his mother on the door of his past. And, there, before everyone in the room, we witnessed a little boy emerge in the body of a sixty-year-old man as he traced the writing with his finger.
Since then, I mark my own son's growth, knowing that one day, he will remain exactly as he was the day I measured him.
Mike Lambert, 46, Seaford, DE:
It's not often that a husband has a plan to surprise his wife and it goes exactly as he envisioned.
My wife Cara lost her father in 1997. Ever since, she has said many times that she wants to be buried near her father at Union Cemetery in Georgetown, Delaware.
A couple of years ago, I was wondering what to give Cara for Christmas. I love to give unique gifts, not the usual dumb things we men seem to come up with. I got an idea to give her a cemetery plot, if I could buy one near her parents.
Now my hopes were not very high that I could get a plot close to my in-laws. I called the man in charge of the cemetery to see what was available.
When I spoke to the gentleman he told me that the two plots next to my in-laws were available and I could buy them. "Please type the deeds now," I told him, amazed at my unusual good luck.
I received the deeds the next week and couldn't wait for Christmas to give them to my wife. On our next visit to the cemetery, we stopped at her dad's grave and I knew what she was going to say. "I wish I could be buried here," she said.
I then pulled out the deeds to the plots. "Here honey," I said, handing her the deeds. "You will be buried here next to your parents. We own the plots you're standing on."
Well, I'll tell you one thing -- the tears were flowing for quite a while. There just aren't enough times in your life that you have things go quite so perfectly.
Leila Gormley, 82, Van Nuys, CA:
THE LITTLE TRAIN THAT WAITED
The little train with its teddy bear passengers, wrapped in plain brown paper, sat on a high closet shelf year after year waiting patiently for a small child to love it.
The year was 1970. My best friend and neighbor called to tell me of the birth of her first grandchild. Her joy was contagious! That same morning the local newspaper carried an ad picturing a beautiful little wooden train imported from Germany. She had to have it for Baby Andy!
I went with her as she bought the next to last one. It was exquisite. Each car was painted a bright, festive color with yellow wheels. One golden fuzzy bear was dressed as an engineer, and the others in various outfits rode as passengers. I fell in love with it and knew I had to buy the last one to save in anticipation of a future grandchild of my own.
At the time, my three young daughters were just beginning to test their wings and independence and were highly amused by my hopes and dreams. Each Christmas there was some merriment and teasing about opening the package.
Finally, on October 8, 1987, an early morning call came from my youngest daughter announcing the birth of my first grandchild, "Hello Grandma. Baby Sam has arrived." I can't describe my happiness and the love I already felt for him.
On Christmas morning, when he was two and one-half months old, the little train with its golden bears, that had waited 17 years, was under the Christmas tree for the most heartwarming family Christmas ever.
Patricia McAskin, 55, Belmont, CA:
My grandfather, Arthur Daley, gave me one of the greatest gifts -- the lesson of how to "give unto others."
It was just a few months after the terrible riots of 1967 in Detroit. We lived in an area considered to be an "Irish enclave," when the first Black family moved in. The neighborhood was in a stir. I wondered how my grandfather would take the news. He had very strong opinions about many things.
Not even one week passed when I smelled the delicious smells of Grandpa's famous banana bread coming from the kitchen. I thought I knew what we would be having for dessert that night. But I was wrong.
I watched as he carefully wrapped it up in a fine piece of Irish linen, then he cut several of his favorite flowers from his ever-growing garden, and headed down the street.
I stood on the porch. Suddenly I heard old Mrs. Murphy, with a brogue as thick as the day she arrived from Ireland 25 years ago, yell out, "And where do you think you're going, Mr. Daley?"
"To welcome our new neighbors, Mrs. Murphy," shouted back my grandfather.
"If you do that, Mr. Daley, I'll not be speaking to you ever again."
"Well then, Mrs. Murphy, it's been a nice 25 years knowing you."
And he walked across the street to meet our new neighbors.
Victoria Holt, 30, South Bend, IN:
As a child, I didn't understand the significance of Grandpa's determination to remember my birthday. Something he almost always said was, "See, Grandpa never forgets your birthday." Then I would joyfully open presents. Grandpa never asked for anything except a hug. He would sit up with difficulty, look at me with his sad watery eyes and tell me, "I love you, Baby Girl."
Even as a teenager I missed the somewhat blatant signs of the alcoholism: the elaborate stein collection, empty beer cans, and grandpa himself, sleeping on the couch. Still, he would ask for a hug and wish me happy birthday every January 13th.
I learned later that my parents took us over for visits with reluctance. They were embarrassed and ashamed, though I never heard them say the word "drunk."
The last time I saw Grandpa, I had stopped by to tell him how my pregnancy was going. I was recently married, recently pregnant, and wrapped up in my own life. I hadn't seen him in a while and was surprised by his appearance. Sleeping sitting up, he was oblivious to my presence. I looked at him with tenderness. He was a shell of the man he could have been without the ravages of alcohol. Grandpa woke long enough to give me a hug. He died a few weeks later.
All grown up, I finally understood how Grandpa's struggle with alcoholism destroyed his life. Something so simple as remembering birthdays was a milestone from a brain devastated by alcohol.
Months later, I had a dream that my grandfather was clean, sober, and happy. He gave me a big hug and said in my ear, "See, Grandpa never forgets your birthday." I woke up. It was January 13th.
Debbie Magretta, 49, Spokane, WA:
We were very poor when I was eight and, although I understood, it was still difficult knowing there would be no Christmas that year. No tree, no gifts, and not much food.
During the summer, I had become waving buddies with the train that came by the house. Every day I would be there to wave. The Engineer and company would wave back. Many times, they would start blowing the horn from far, far back so that I could hear them coming and be there to wave. Sometimes they would throw a candy bar as a treat. How I loved that summer. For this poor little girl, those were special times.
About a month before Christmas, like many other times, money was scarce and we had to move. I was heartbroken. I had to leave my train. We didn't have much, but my mother decided we had enough to make homemade cookies as a good-bye gift for the trainmen. We went to the local grain elevator where we knew the train stopped. We asked if they would deliver the cookies the next time the train was there and they agreed. Mother didn't tell me she put in our new address.
Christmas Eve arrived with little Christmas cheer -- until the knock on the door. Standing there were three men whom I did not recognize. They had with them a beautiful Christmas tree, several small, gift-wrapped packages, and a Christmas card. They identified themselves as "the trainmen." I was sure they were the wise men bearing gifts. In that Christmas card was a ten-dollar bill, which would become Christmas dinner.
It wasn't the gifts that made the Christmas special, but the generosity of those men, whose names I never knew, and who I never saw again, but who have never been forgotten.
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