English Original
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated the commercial aspects of Christmas: the overspending, the frantic last-minute shopping for impersonal gifts.
Knowing this, I decided one year to find a special gift for him. The inspiration came unexpectedly. Our 12-year-old son Kevin had a wrestling match before Christmas against a team from an inner-city church. The opposing team, dressed in ragged sneakers and wrestling without protective headgear, presented a stark contrast to our well-equipped boys. Our team won decisively.
Mike, sitting beside me, shook his head sadly. "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have potential, but losing like this could break their spirit." Mike loved all kids, having coached youth sports. That's when the idea came.
That afternoon, I bought wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the church. On Christmas Eve, I placed an envelope on the tree with a note inside telling Mike what I had done. His smile was the brightest part of Christmas that year.
A tradition was born. Each Christmas, I continued the practice—sending mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, helping elderly brothers who lost their home to a fire, and so on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas, always opened last on Christmas morning, with our children watching in wide-eyed anticipation.
As the children grew, toys gave way to practical gifts, but the envelope never lost its allure. The story deepened when we lost Mike to cancer. Grief-stricken that first Christmas without him, I still placed an envelope on the tree. In the morning, I found three more—each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed one for their dad.
The tradition has grown and will continue with future generations. Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.
中文翻译
那只是一个粘在我们圣诞树枝间的小小白信封。没有名字，没有标识，没有题词。过去十年左右，它一直从枝叶间探出头来。
这一切始于我的丈夫迈克对圣诞节商业化的厌恶：过度消费、最后一刻疯狂购买毫无个性的礼物。
知道他的感受后，有一年我决定为他寻找一份特别的礼物。灵感不期而至。我们12岁的儿子凯文在圣诞节前有一场摔跤比赛，对手是一支来自内城区教堂的团队。对方队员穿着破旧的运动鞋，没有佩戴保护头部的护具，与我们装备精良的孩子们形成了鲜明对比。我们的队伍大获全胜。
坐在我旁边的迈克难过地摇摇头。“我真希望他们中至少有一个能赢，”他说。“他们很有潜力，但这样的失败可能会击垮他们的精神。”迈克热爱所有孩子，他曾执教过青少年体育队。就在这时，我有了主意。
那天下午，我买了摔跤护具和鞋子，匿名寄给了那所教堂。平安夜，我在树上放了一个信封，里面的纸条告诉迈克我所做的一切。他那年的笑容是圣诞节最明亮的光彩。
一个传统由此诞生。每个圣诞节，我都延续这个做法——送智障儿童去看冰球比赛，帮助在圣诞节前一周房屋被烧毁的老年兄弟，等等。这个信封成了我们圣诞节的亮点，总是在圣诞早晨最后被打开，孩子们睁大眼睛，满怀期待地看着父亲取下信封。
随着孩子们长大，玩具被更实用的礼物取代，但这个信封的魅力从未减退。当我们因可怕的癌症失去迈克后，故事有了更深的含义。没有他的第一个圣诞节，我沉浸在悲痛中，几乎没心思装饰圣诞树。但我依然在平安夜放了一个信封在树上。早晨，我发现多了三个——我们的每个孩子，彼此不知情，都为他们的父亲放了一个。
这个传统已经成长，并将随着子孙后代延续下去。迈克的精神，就像圣诞精神一样，将永远与我们同在。