In the Shelter

So the orgy of retail excess is in its final week, and I, miserly scrooge, sit back and SMH, as the young texters text. But wait, D2's friend Ben's Mom again came to the rescue, to bring warmth into the Season.

As far as I'm concerned, and now this is our second year of participation, Julie is the reason for the season. Julie started organizing a toy drive to a Homestead homeless shelter when her boys were very young, after she became a bit fed up with the excesses of Pinecrest Chanukah's and Christmases, and wanted to teach her family about giving.

Yesterday evening, D1 and Joel gave up vacation time from their exams, and came over, and they, and D2, and Wifey, and I fired up the aging Volvo SUV and headed over to Julie's house. We congratulated Julie's S2 Josh on his college acceptances, and the Ds caught up with old friends. Julie's S3, Ethan, a 12 year old with one of the sweetest personalities ever (I'd be not at all surprised if the kid wins American Idol someday, he loves to act and sing, and it comes from genuineness), told D2 that he never realized D1 was so short...we laughed as we loaded up the toys and toiletries and headed to far south Dade.

The shelter caters only to homeless families. Steve, Julie's husband and a macher in the national Democratic party, told me that the shelter is PACKED these days, on account of the economy. Inside the room, the Pinecrest Moms and future Moms used their fine organizational skills, displaying the toys according to age and sex and whatever other categories were deemed appropriate. The Dads and future Dads sat around, after we did the heavy lifting, and talked football and basketball, and premium TV (I think I converted 2 guys to at least try our "Breaking Bad.").

Then came the rush of kids, and their parents. They were like, well, kids in a toy store, where everything was free! Ethan and some of the other kids acted as personal shoppers, matching the shelter kids up with age appropriate toys. On the way out, the kids got cookies and candy packages. It was a truly joyful scene.

Of course, as I looked upon some of the little girls, I started wondering why they were born into such tough lives. One family in particular got my attention, The Dad was young, probably mid 20s, and handsome in the way some are with tatoos and shaved head, and the Mom had a very pretty face but dyed red hair and strange clothes. If I had to guess, both had been in prison, probably for drug related things, but who knows. Anyway, they had 3 adorable, blonde girls, probably about 4, 6, and 8, and they looked like any other family in a toy store.

Except this was a homeless shelter, and not West Kendall, or Plantation, or Cooper City. I kept optimistic, deciding it was just a rough patch for all these folks, and with love, and hard work and some changed luck, all would climb out and away from the shelter. But at least for last night, there was joy and happiness.

Afterwards, we retreated to Shiver's Barbecue, a place in Homestead since the 40s, apparently. Somehow, this place escaped my attention. We ate delicious ribs and chicked and corn and pulled pork. The walls were covered with jet fighter and helicopter photos from the nearby Air Force Base...

We then drove home, up US 1, and the Ds and Joel and Wifey joked about Wifey's open cheating at online Scrabble. I was so proud of my Ds and Joel, spending a night this way, helping those who need it.

Earlier, I wrote to Julie that she was my hero, and she is. Her charity caused other charity, now 10 years worth. She adores her 3 sons, who are some of the finest young men around. And she is funny, and sweet, and knows good barbecue. What a lady!

So Christmas isn't ALL bad, nor Chanukah. This year, the holidays coincide. I'm headed into the garage later to do my family's preparation: pull the electric menorah from the shelf, and make sure all the bulbs work. We'll light a regular one, too, and surely admire all the neighborhood lights and displays.

When folks give to their fellows, like Julie did and does, well, that's as good as it gets.