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| | | From: Jacque (Original Message) | Sent: 1/16/2005 8:22 PM |
| Christmas Roses |  | Bobby was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. Bobby didn't wear boots; he didn't like them, and anyway he didn't own any.
The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold, but he thought they were lots better than not having any shoes at all.
Bobby had been in his backyard for about an hour already. And, try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift.
He shook his head as he thought! , "This is useless! Even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend."
Ever since his father had passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, but there just never seemed to be enough. She worked nights at the hospital, but the wages she earned could only be stretched so far.
Most of the time, it didn't matter, because what the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love and family unity. But this was different. This was Christmas. Now, it mattered.
Bobby had three older sisters, who ran the household in their mother's absence, and all three of hi! s sisters had already made beautiful gifts for their mother. He had tr ied to make something for her, but everything he made looked awful when he was done. Or tasted awful. His sisters had offered to make something for their mom for him to give to her, but he wanted to do something himself. They all hugged him, but they couldn't think of anything.
Somehow it just wasn't fair. Here it was Christmas Eve already, and he still had nothing for his mom.
It wasn't easy being six without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to. Someone who could give him some ideas about what he could get for his mom.
Scowling so he wouldn't cry, Bobby kicked at the snow, jammed his hands into his pockets, and walked down to the street where the s! hops and stores were.
Bobby walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful - and so out of reach.
It was starting to get dark and Bobby reluctantly turned toward home when suddenly his eyes caught the glimmer of the setting sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb.
He reached down and discovered a shiny dime. Never before has anyone felt so wealthy as Bobby felt at that moment.
As he held his new found treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw.
<IM! width="30" src="http://home.att.net/~scorh5/Chri stmasRoses1b.gif" height="30" G alt="ChristmasRoses1b">His excitement quickly turned cold when salesperson after salesperson told him that he could not buy anything with only a dime.
He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. The chubby little shopkeeper's bright red sweater caught Bobby's eye immediately because it stood out amongs all the drab winter coats of the customers. The owner glanced up briefly as Bobby came in, then went back to his work.
When the shop owner asked if he could help him, Bobby presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift.
Stroking his beard, the shop owner looked at Bobby and his ten cent offering. Thoughtfully, h! e nodded, saying, "You just wait here until I've served these other customers, and I'll see what I can do for you."
While Bobby waited, he looked around the store at the beautiful flowers, and even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers. He'd never tell anyone, of course, but he kind of liked them, too.
The sound of the door closing as the last customer left jolted Bobby back to reality. Alone in the shop, Bobby began to fear that the shop keeper had forgotten all about him. Just as he turned to leave, he heard the door to the back room opening, and quickly spun around.
The shop owner came out, nodded at Bobby, and moved to the counte! r. He reached into the glass cases behind the counter and began select ing flowers, although Bobby couldn't see exactly what he was doing. Then suddenly, there before Bobby's eyes, lay twelve long stemmed, red roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers tucked in beside them, all tied together with a big silver bow.
The owner picked them up and placed them gently into a long white box, covered them with snow-white tissue, put the cover on the box and tied a slender silver cord around it, then looked at Bobby.
"That will be ten cents, young man," the shop owner said reaching out his hand for the dime.
Slowly, Bobby moved his hand to give the man his dime, his face reflecting his surprise and doubt.
Seeing the boy's reluctance, the owner added, "I just happened to have some roses on sale for ten cents a dozen. Would you like them?"
This time Bobby did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his hands, he felt a joy he had never felt before in his whole life. His little face gleamed with pride, and he almost forgot to thank the store owner as he turned to take his mom's Christmas present home to her.
Cradling the box carefully, he grinned up at the owner, who held the door open for him. He was already several feet away from the store when he heard the shop keeper say, "Merry Christmas, son!" and he flung a quick "Merry Christmas to you, too, sir! and thanks again!" back over ! his shoulder. His mom would be delighted, and that was all he could th ink of as he hurried home with his treasure.
As the shop keeper returned inside, the his wife walked out from the back of the store. "Who were you talking to out here? I thought the last customer left several minutes ago."
Staring out the window, and blinking tears from his eyes, he replied, "A strange thing happened to me this morning. While I was setting things up to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway, just on a hunch.
"Then, just a few minutes ago, a little boy - couldn't have been more than five or s! ix years old - came into the shop with a dime, and wanted to buy a flower for his mother's Christmas present. "When I looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago. I remember what it was like to be a poor boy who had nothing with which to buy my mother a Christmas gift.
"I'd guess I was about the same age as this kid when a man I'd never seen before, and haven't seen since, stopped me on the street and told me he wanted to give me ten dollars." The man smiled down at his wife. "I bought a dozen roses for my mom with that ten dollars. I don't remember much about the guy - I only saw him that once. He was short, bearded, fat, and wore a bright red sweater.
"Then, when I saw that little boy tonight, I knew whose that voice was, and I put together a dozen of my very best r! oses."
"A short, fat man, hmmmm?" said his wife, eyeing him. She put her arms around him, rubbing her cheek against the soft wool of his sweater. "Wearing red? So maybe there is a Santa Claus, after all?" She smiled at him, and reached up to stroke his beard.
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