In the Best of Ways

In the best of ways

As I walked up to Mr. DeCampo’s door, my steps got slower. My mind racing to think of what I was going to say. I didn’t want to go with the truth, that I was fooling around, not paying attention and threw my ball into his backyard. Unfortunately my father had seen it happen and told me, unequivocally, that I had to go tell Mr. DeCampo.

As I got close, still plotting, I saw his Christmas tree through the window. It was small, on a table a little way away from the window. It had no lights, no decorations.

Another couple steps gave me a view of Mr. DeCampo himself, sitting staring at the tree. Thinking he must be just about to start decorating it, gave me the courage to ring the bell. When he opened the door he seemed a little off from his usual cranky self, but I blurted out the situation, expecting a lecture on carefulness. He just told me to go get my ball, then sat back down, not even watching me.

Suddenly I remembered that last Christmas his wife had still been alive! Even at twelve it was obvious that losing his wife would be terrible. How could I forget!

As he sat, ignoring me, I saw his decorations in a box, and in his hand, a star. For some unknown reason, I blurted out, “Can I help you get that star up? It’s pretty high.”

It was like he woke up, “Thanks,” he said, pulling over a chair for me to stand on. I climbed up and placed the star on top. When I looked back, he smiled saying, “Sandy always put up the star…”

That moment pops into my head every Christmas to this day. It changed me, in the best of ways.