| It's A Family Tradition Part III written by Bob McDonald |
After eating that meal with such heavy hearts, we
left the kitchen table and moved to the living room
where the granddaughters, Gary, Ken, and I had
unwrapped Christmas gifts every December of our
lives. However, the materialism seemed so bold and
magnified that Christmas without Mama, keeper of
the true spirit of unselfish giving. After we
exchanged all gifts, Daddy shocked us with an
announcement.
“Boys, I have a gift from your mama and me,”
Daddy said. “Your mama was aware that we had
not gotten you boys anything for Christmas. She
also realized that this would be the last Christmas
you would receive a gift from her. As sick and as
medicated as your mama was, she clearly knew what
you needed and could use. She gave me specific
instructions on what to buy.” With a lump in his
throat and a teary mist in his eyes but a conviction in
his voice, Daddy reached out with a gift in his hand
and said, “Merry Christmas from your mama and
me!”
Suddenly, the spirit of Christmas resurrected
itself. I felt Mama’s presence in the living room of
my childhood that night. I grabbed the gift from
Daddy and ripped into the wrapping with the
enthusiasm of my ten-year-old daughter Natalie!
What could be the last gift ever from my mama?
Mama had never given me a gift that I did not need
or could use no matter what the occasion or season.
Yet, the gift I unwrapped that night was the greatest
gift my mother had ever given. Underneath that
pretty paper and big bow was the King James
Version of the Holy Bible. Imprinted on the lower
right hand corner of the front cover was my name,
“BOB MCDONALD.” Mama had personalized
my gift. I knew Daddy had followed her instructions
to the letter. Pop would have never thought to put
my name on the cover.
Family traditions will die only at the hands of
the family. My wife Sally has made certain that this
tragedy will never happen in the McDonald Family.
Shortly after that first Christmas without Mama,
Sally decided the Christmas celebration was too
large to be handled by a seventy six year old senior
citizen and his three sons. Hence since 1994, the
Rockingham McDonalds drive to the home of the
Hope Mills McDonalds every Christmas Eve to
dine, fellowship, and open gifts. Of course, the gifts
are initially displayed under the branches of a live
Christmas tree found in my living room. After all, it’
s a family tradition. Mama’s granddaughters and
now great-grandsons open these gifts with the same
childhood enthusiasm and excitement Gary, Ken,
and I used in our living room in Rockingham so long
ago. Every Christmas Uncle Gary, the mechanical-
minded brother, pulls out his tools and puts together
the “assembly required” gifts just as Daddy did
when according to Mama, “The elves threw the
boxed gifts on the sleigh because they ran out of time
to assemble.” Just as Mama did, Sally buys and
hides Christmas presents all year so she can, as she
says, “Give like your Mama!” After all, it’s a family
tradition.” Every McDonald member has to render
his or her favorite Christmas story about Mama.
After revisiting Christmases of the past, the
Rockingham clan packs up and hurries home because
Santa and his eight tiny reindeer are in-flight to
Richmond County. My three girls are always in the
same rush to go to bed since no one knows where
Santa will land first, Rockingham or Hope Mills.
For several Christmas mornings, our girls were
always up and exploring under the Christmas tree
before I could arise from bed. I was exhausted after
helping unload Santa’s sleigh and assembling any
gifts still on the sleigh in a box. After a mental
flashback to Christmas Past, the spirit of Christmas
grabbed me by the shoulders and shook my very soul
as the gleeful sounds of my children under the tree
drifted to my bedroom upstairs. I was allowing a
family tradition to die. I hurried downstairs and
corralled Sally and the kids onto the living room
couch. I then opened up that treasured Christmas
gift of 1992 and read from Luke 1:1-20 the same words
my daddy read to my two brothers, my mama, and me
for so many Christmases of so long ago. My focus
went back to that first Christmas in Bethlehem but
also drifted to those Christmas mornings in
Rockingham back in the ‘50s and ‘60s. My three
girls did and still do twitch and fidget as much as
Gary, Ken, and I did when we were kids. When I
open that precious Bible, I can feel the spirit of
Mama in our living room every Christmas morning
and know she is pleased with the use of her gift to
me.
I discovered that I not only have a use for this gift
but I also have a need for this gift. Many nights
after Daddy had gone to bed, Mama and I would sit
up and talk. Not only did these nights include late
nights as a kid but also weekend nights on home
visits from college as well as the nights as a young
married man while my wife was back in Hope Mills
sound asleep. Mama was always available to
discuss and give advice on anything. I thought I had
lost that advisor with her death. I still had
questions from time to time that stood unanswered.
Yet, Mama had provided me with an answer book
and I was naive to the obvious. Page one of my
answer book read: Presented To Bob By Mama and
Daddy Date Christmas 1992. Yes, this devout
Christian woman had left a book of advice that I
could use for any issue or any situation for the rest
of my life.
The Holy Bible reassures me that because of my
faith and hope in God’s gift to the world that first
Christmas, I will again one day see my mama. This
promise is based on an empty tomb. Yet before the
tomb was empty, the manger held God’s gift to the
world. I confessed my sins and I believe Jesus
Christ is the Son of God and accepted God’s gift as
my Lord and Saviour.
The gift Mama gave to Gary, Ken, and me from her
deathbed is the Answer Book to finding the gift of
eternal life. This Answer Book is the guide Mama
used for her life and still is the rulebook Daddy uses
for his. It is my prayer that my brothers and I turn
to this Answer Book when life throws a curve at us
and follow the advice found in God’s Holy Word.
Mama did not intend for us to leave it on the shelf.
It is also my wish that even though Ken and Gary
live alone now, they open Mama’s gift on Christmas
morning and read from Luke 1:1-20 and reflect on the
times in the past and project on what this story
means for them in the future. I also hope that when
my three girls leave the nest and establish
themselves with or without a husband, with or
without kids that my girls do the same. After all,
reading this story on Christmas morning is a family
tradition and one of my precious childhood memories
of growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina – a
small textile town in the South in the ‘ 50s & ‘ 60s.
P.S. I love to share my mother’s view on death via
cancer versus death as a result of instant and
uncontrollable circumstances with anyone whose
loved one is battling terminal cancer. God did shine
His merciful grace down upon me as well as my mom
to allow me this precious time of sharing with her.
Yet, after her death, I realized I still had one more
unanswered question that Mama and no one else
could answer. My mama took her first job outside
the home when Gary was a senior in high school. I
guess she saw the light at the end of Gary’s tunnel
and knew he would be able to walk off the stage at
Kate Finley Auditorium with diploma in hand.
Mama always told everyone that she graduated from
high school four times. Gary, Ken, and I could not
argue that point.
R.W. Company hired Mama as a seamstress. If
an item was on the rack and a clothing salesman
could sell it, Mama could make it tailor fit regardless
of size. She performed her job with such speed that
she was able to slip down on the sales floor and
sale. It was not long before Sheriff Goodman
realized he could not afford to keep Mama as a
seamstress. He promoted Mama to sales. Many
women in Rockingham could sew but none could sell
like my mama. Mama’s combined experience of both
jobs was extremely beneficial to my brothers and me.
Mama was the first to know when the store
promoted a clothing sale. It was her job to change
prices on items. She knew which items would be
marked down several times until they were sold. As
a result, I wore stylish top quality slacks to NC
State, many at a cost of only five dollars each. You
can forget that the last mark down table only held
colors such as lavender, turquoise, yellow, or orange.
I wore the finest made slacks in the industry and
fitted by my own personal tailor. This trend
continued on throughout my adult life. I left
Rockingham many times with a new article of
clothing that just happened to be on sale at
Goodman’s. Of course, it was always a perfect fit.
Mama did make one major and very appreciated
change since my days at NC State. Now that
Daddy and Mama had no college tuitions to pay or
three kids raiding the Frigidaire refrigerator, Mama
bought Gary, Ken, and me items at the first mark
down sale. One could no longer see us coming. All
of this discussion leads up to the one question I
never asked Mama. “What is my inseam length?”
That answer was buried with Mama. How could I
ever buy an unaltered pair of pants again?
Two months later, Daddy pulls up into my yard.
When he walks in, he is carrying a R.W. Goodman
bag with the following explanation: “Bob, I found
this bag in the top of your mama’s closet. It has two
pair of pants in it. I thought maybe they were either
for Gary or Ken but both told me these pants were
not their size and they are definitely not mine. The
waist is too small and the length is too long.”
“Hand me the bag, Pop. If they fit, I will take
them.” I slipped the first pair on and they fit like a
glove. “Well this pair will not go back to
Rockingham. “Let me try on the second pair.”
Bingo! “Gee thanks, I really like this pair. I am
going to wear these to work tomorrow.”
“Minnie Pearl, take your price tags off before you
do!” laughed Sally. “You look as ridiculous as she
does. Both pair still have the tags on them.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do it right now.” I had not
even noticed a tag on either pair. I ripped the tag off
of the pair I had on. I am sure Mama bought them
on sale. Even though both pair were gifts to me, I
was curious as to what retail price was on these
quality pants. I was stunned when I read the label;
it was not the price of the pants that shocked me but
what was written on the label that floored me.
Written in Mama’s handwriting was my answer, “31
".” Yes, heaven is real. One of God’s angels had
just sent me a note through her messenger, Daddy.
The words Mama said to me when we were alone
in Presbyterian Hospital came back to me that day.
“I am so fortunate. Nothing has been left unsaid.
God is good!” God is indeed good. My brothers and
I were very fortunate to be brought up in a Christian
home by two of the Godliest people I have ever
known. They have done their job. I just hope we can
do our jobs. I know God and one of His Heavenly
Host are watching from above. Merry Christmas!
left the kitchen table and moved to the living room
where the granddaughters, Gary, Ken, and I had
unwrapped Christmas gifts every December of our
lives. However, the materialism seemed so bold and
magnified that Christmas without Mama, keeper of
the true spirit of unselfish giving. After we
exchanged all gifts, Daddy shocked us with an
announcement.
“Boys, I have a gift from your mama and me,”
Daddy said. “Your mama was aware that we had
not gotten you boys anything for Christmas. She
also realized that this would be the last Christmas
you would receive a gift from her. As sick and as
medicated as your mama was, she clearly knew what
you needed and could use. She gave me specific
instructions on what to buy.” With a lump in his
throat and a teary mist in his eyes but a conviction in
his voice, Daddy reached out with a gift in his hand
and said, “Merry Christmas from your mama and
me!”
Suddenly, the spirit of Christmas resurrected
itself. I felt Mama’s presence in the living room of
my childhood that night. I grabbed the gift from
Daddy and ripped into the wrapping with the
enthusiasm of my ten-year-old daughter Natalie!
What could be the last gift ever from my mama?
Mama had never given me a gift that I did not need
or could use no matter what the occasion or season.
Yet, the gift I unwrapped that night was the greatest
gift my mother had ever given. Underneath that
pretty paper and big bow was the King James
Version of the Holy Bible. Imprinted on the lower
right hand corner of the front cover was my name,
“BOB MCDONALD.” Mama had personalized
my gift. I knew Daddy had followed her instructions
to the letter. Pop would have never thought to put
my name on the cover.
Family traditions will die only at the hands of
the family. My wife Sally has made certain that this
tragedy will never happen in the McDonald Family.
Shortly after that first Christmas without Mama,
Sally decided the Christmas celebration was too
large to be handled by a seventy six year old senior
citizen and his three sons. Hence since 1994, the
Rockingham McDonalds drive to the home of the
Hope Mills McDonalds every Christmas Eve to
dine, fellowship, and open gifts. Of course, the gifts
are initially displayed under the branches of a live
Christmas tree found in my living room. After all, it’
s a family tradition. Mama’s granddaughters and
now great-grandsons open these gifts with the same
childhood enthusiasm and excitement Gary, Ken,
and I used in our living room in Rockingham so long
ago. Every Christmas Uncle Gary, the mechanical-
minded brother, pulls out his tools and puts together
the “assembly required” gifts just as Daddy did
when according to Mama, “The elves threw the
boxed gifts on the sleigh because they ran out of time
to assemble.” Just as Mama did, Sally buys and
hides Christmas presents all year so she can, as she
says, “Give like your Mama!” After all, it’s a family
tradition.” Every McDonald member has to render
his or her favorite Christmas story about Mama.
After revisiting Christmases of the past, the
Rockingham clan packs up and hurries home because
Santa and his eight tiny reindeer are in-flight to
Richmond County. My three girls are always in the
same rush to go to bed since no one knows where
Santa will land first, Rockingham or Hope Mills.
For several Christmas mornings, our girls were
always up and exploring under the Christmas tree
before I could arise from bed. I was exhausted after
helping unload Santa’s sleigh and assembling any
gifts still on the sleigh in a box. After a mental
flashback to Christmas Past, the spirit of Christmas
grabbed me by the shoulders and shook my very soul
as the gleeful sounds of my children under the tree
drifted to my bedroom upstairs. I was allowing a
family tradition to die. I hurried downstairs and
corralled Sally and the kids onto the living room
couch. I then opened up that treasured Christmas
gift of 1992 and read from Luke 1:1-20 the same words
my daddy read to my two brothers, my mama, and me
for so many Christmases of so long ago. My focus
went back to that first Christmas in Bethlehem but
also drifted to those Christmas mornings in
Rockingham back in the ‘50s and ‘60s. My three
girls did and still do twitch and fidget as much as
Gary, Ken, and I did when we were kids. When I
open that precious Bible, I can feel the spirit of
Mama in our living room every Christmas morning
and know she is pleased with the use of her gift to
me.
I discovered that I not only have a use for this gift
but I also have a need for this gift. Many nights
after Daddy had gone to bed, Mama and I would sit
up and talk. Not only did these nights include late
nights as a kid but also weekend nights on home
visits from college as well as the nights as a young
married man while my wife was back in Hope Mills
sound asleep. Mama was always available to
discuss and give advice on anything. I thought I had
lost that advisor with her death. I still had
questions from time to time that stood unanswered.
Yet, Mama had provided me with an answer book
and I was naive to the obvious. Page one of my
answer book read: Presented To Bob By Mama and
Daddy Date Christmas 1992. Yes, this devout
Christian woman had left a book of advice that I
could use for any issue or any situation for the rest
of my life.
The Holy Bible reassures me that because of my
faith and hope in God’s gift to the world that first
Christmas, I will again one day see my mama. This
promise is based on an empty tomb. Yet before the
tomb was empty, the manger held God’s gift to the
world. I confessed my sins and I believe Jesus
Christ is the Son of God and accepted God’s gift as
my Lord and Saviour.
The gift Mama gave to Gary, Ken, and me from her
deathbed is the Answer Book to finding the gift of
eternal life. This Answer Book is the guide Mama
used for her life and still is the rulebook Daddy uses
for his. It is my prayer that my brothers and I turn
to this Answer Book when life throws a curve at us
and follow the advice found in God’s Holy Word.
Mama did not intend for us to leave it on the shelf.
It is also my wish that even though Ken and Gary
live alone now, they open Mama’s gift on Christmas
morning and read from Luke 1:1-20 and reflect on the
times in the past and project on what this story
means for them in the future. I also hope that when
my three girls leave the nest and establish
themselves with or without a husband, with or
without kids that my girls do the same. After all,
reading this story on Christmas morning is a family
tradition and one of my precious childhood memories
of growing up in Rockingham, North Carolina – a
small textile town in the South in the ‘ 50s & ‘ 60s.
P.S. I love to share my mother’s view on death via
cancer versus death as a result of instant and
uncontrollable circumstances with anyone whose
loved one is battling terminal cancer. God did shine
His merciful grace down upon me as well as my mom
to allow me this precious time of sharing with her.
Yet, after her death, I realized I still had one more
unanswered question that Mama and no one else
could answer. My mama took her first job outside
the home when Gary was a senior in high school. I
guess she saw the light at the end of Gary’s tunnel
and knew he would be able to walk off the stage at
Kate Finley Auditorium with diploma in hand.
Mama always told everyone that she graduated from
high school four times. Gary, Ken, and I could not
argue that point.
R.W. Company hired Mama as a seamstress. If
an item was on the rack and a clothing salesman
could sell it, Mama could make it tailor fit regardless
of size. She performed her job with such speed that
she was able to slip down on the sales floor and
sale. It was not long before Sheriff Goodman
realized he could not afford to keep Mama as a
seamstress. He promoted Mama to sales. Many
women in Rockingham could sew but none could sell
like my mama. Mama’s combined experience of both
jobs was extremely beneficial to my brothers and me.
Mama was the first to know when the store
promoted a clothing sale. It was her job to change
prices on items. She knew which items would be
marked down several times until they were sold. As
a result, I wore stylish top quality slacks to NC
State, many at a cost of only five dollars each. You
can forget that the last mark down table only held
colors such as lavender, turquoise, yellow, or orange.
I wore the finest made slacks in the industry and
fitted by my own personal tailor. This trend
continued on throughout my adult life. I left
Rockingham many times with a new article of
clothing that just happened to be on sale at
Goodman’s. Of course, it was always a perfect fit.
Mama did make one major and very appreciated
change since my days at NC State. Now that
Daddy and Mama had no college tuitions to pay or
three kids raiding the Frigidaire refrigerator, Mama
bought Gary, Ken, and me items at the first mark
down sale. One could no longer see us coming. All
of this discussion leads up to the one question I
never asked Mama. “What is my inseam length?”
That answer was buried with Mama. How could I
ever buy an unaltered pair of pants again?
Two months later, Daddy pulls up into my yard.
When he walks in, he is carrying a R.W. Goodman
bag with the following explanation: “Bob, I found
this bag in the top of your mama’s closet. It has two
pair of pants in it. I thought maybe they were either
for Gary or Ken but both told me these pants were
not their size and they are definitely not mine. The
waist is too small and the length is too long.”
“Hand me the bag, Pop. If they fit, I will take
them.” I slipped the first pair on and they fit like a
glove. “Well this pair will not go back to
Rockingham. “Let me try on the second pair.”
Bingo! “Gee thanks, I really like this pair. I am
going to wear these to work tomorrow.”
“Minnie Pearl, take your price tags off before you
do!” laughed Sally. “You look as ridiculous as she
does. Both pair still have the tags on them.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll do it right now.” I had not
even noticed a tag on either pair. I ripped the tag off
of the pair I had on. I am sure Mama bought them
on sale. Even though both pair were gifts to me, I
was curious as to what retail price was on these
quality pants. I was stunned when I read the label;
it was not the price of the pants that shocked me but
what was written on the label that floored me.
Written in Mama’s handwriting was my answer, “31
".” Yes, heaven is real. One of God’s angels had
just sent me a note through her messenger, Daddy.
The words Mama said to me when we were alone
in Presbyterian Hospital came back to me that day.
“I am so fortunate. Nothing has been left unsaid.
God is good!” God is indeed good. My brothers and
I were very fortunate to be brought up in a Christian
home by two of the Godliest people I have ever
known. They have done their job. I just hope we can
do our jobs. I know God and one of His Heavenly
Host are watching from above. Merry Christmas!
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