Marshall Ramsey

His high-paying job just evaporated one day.  He sat in the corner office, hopelessly begging for a career that would never come back.  Soon afterwards, all the trappings of his wealth went with it.  Once the house and cars were gone, his wife and kids followed right behind.  In his mid-40’s and exhausted, a man once in the the peak of his career had now become the Aluminum Can Man.

Something inside him just snapped.

The Aluminum Can Man had forgotten a simple truth: He was not in control. God was and the Good Lord now was sending him on another journey.  Never a man for organized religion, the Aluminum Can Man seldom darkened the door of a church except for a free meal. He had no community. He didn’t break bread with his fellow man. While the past was now a faded and torn memory, it still burned inside him like an old scar.  His wife had said the Aluminum Can Man had not done enough to help her through the tough times.  After two years of working three jobs to keep his old lifestyle going, the Aluminum Can Man became an emotional island that one day just sank beneath the sea.

He just simply snapped.  He started repeating himself and then just stopped talking altogether.  His wife was gone soon afterwards.  She wanted to be with her family for support.  The Aluminum Can Man could not handle the stress any longer.  And as she and the kids drove off, the last ounce of fight drained out of him.

So he started collecting cans.  He roamed the city looking for aluminum bits of treasure.

Once a gang of teenagers beat him up, robbing him of his wallet and the remaining photo of his family. He lost vision in his right eye and three of his teeth. A wild beard covered the new scar on his right cheek. Even if his wife had cared for someone other than herself, she would not have recognized him.  The once-handsome executive looked like the vagrant he had become.

The Aluminum Can Man sat alone at a table in the soup kitchen. He hoped there would be enough food for him to have a hot Christmas Eve meal. The other men in room chatted and laughed but not the can man. Blurry memories of watching his children open packages haunted him, scratching at his heart like a rabid bobcat. He could almost hear his children’s voices as they cried out with joy. The Aluminum Can Man opened his mouth to scream but nothing would come out.  He suddenly stood up and walked out the door into the cold, dark snowy night. He was determined to end it all tonight. His career had vanished. His wife had abandoned him. The world did not need him in it. It was time for him to die.

Snow stung his face above his beard as he stumbled through the drifts of snow.  Yellow lights from windows tried to cut through the weather but it was in compete vain.  The Aluminum Can Man noticed the Christmas Trees in the window.  To him, this was just another night.  And Christmas was just another day. Because the birth of Jesus meant nothing to him.

The Aluminum Can Man paused and moved forward. He would die tonight. And no one could stop him. He headed toward the train tracks so he could walk in front of a freight train.

But before he could get there, he came upon a car wreck. An SUV had slid on an ice patch and spun into a power pole.  Both passengers were on the ground with a male unconscious and bleeding profusely from a sizable head wound. The can man ran over to him and tried to speak to the man, but no noise came out.  He took off his rags and wrapped the man’s head.  Over on the other side of the car was a woman screaming to the top of her lungs.

She appeared uninjured — but was pregnant and in labor.  The Aluminum Can Man ran over to her and tried to speak. Once again, nothing would come out. “I’m having my baby!” The lady screamed.

The Aluminum Can Man tried to calm the woman the best as he could. He made some gestures and conveyed to the woman that he was there to help.  And within 15 minutes, another small cry joined his mother’s.  The Aluminum Can Man gently placed three pieces of scrap metal as presents at the feet of the child, much like the Wise Men had done so many years ago. In the process of bringing a new life into the world, the can man forgot that he was on his way to end his own.  He had found purpose. And he realize the Good Lord had led him to this very spot.

As the ambulance loaded the passengers from the SUV, a paramedic wrapped a blanket around the Aluminum Can Man.  “Merry Christmas my friend. You do good work.” The paramedic smiled and patted the can man on the back.

The Aluminum Can Man, unable to speak for so long, opened his mouth and said the first two words he had said in months: “Merry Christmas.”

And as he did, the parting clouds revealed a bright star.

It was Christmas morning, and thanks to the birth of a child, the Aluminum Can Man had hope once again.

It was the big night at the East Mississippi Christmas Tree Farm Christmas Festival. Cool December air nipped at the visitors’ red noses as they sang Christmas Carols and drank hot chocolate. Families from all around Mississippi flocked to the moon-lit countryside to cut down their own Christmas tree.  There were Red Cedars, Virginia Pines, Leyland Cypresses and Frasier Firs.  Each tree had waited a whole year for this night. It was the night when they’d  finally get to fulfill their purpose and finally become a Christmas tree.  Smoke from the bonfire drifted across the open field.  A full moon illuminated the trees, making them look like sentinels guarding the Christmas season. One by one, the families cut their trees, leaving nothing but stumps and memories behind.

On a hill by himself, one tree watched the other trees being hauled off to their final destinations.  The little bent tree was a short, three-foot Virginia Pine with a bent trunk.  One customer had asked if he had the tree version of scoliosis. The comment had made the little bent tree’s thin branches droop even more.  The sadness in his heart of pine caused his needles to fall like tears as he watched his family being carried away.

The little bent tree wanted nothing more than to be a Christmas Tree.  And he knew that he would never be one.

He watched as the crowds left and the last embers of the fire burn out.  As the moon set, darkness covered the field like a blanket. If a Christmas tree’s dream dies and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? The little bent tree knew the answer. Yes.  Yes, it does.

The owner’s little boy came out of their house with a lantern.  Although it was well past the eleven-year-old’s bedtime, he liked sneak out and walk through the fields at night to see deer grazing.  He skipped along the frost-covered grass while holding his lantern. It’s bluish light lit the ground ahead, illuminating the stumps and casting cross-like shadows across the countryside.   He paused and heard a rustle to the right.  The little boy turned east and headed up a small hill.

There his lantern illuminated a sad looking tree. Short and bent, the little boy knew why it had not been chosen. His dad would come out tomorrow and cut the tree down for the next bonfire.  But as the little boy held up his lantern, he felt sorry for the little tree.  Feeling the brace on his own back, he knew what it was like to be considered different.  He smiled and said, “Don’t worry little tree. I know just what we’re going to do.”

The little boy returned thirty minutes with a box.  Inside it was three strings of battery-powered lights, four strings of gold beads and two-dozen beautiful red balls.  The little boy carefully decorated the bent tree and soon, like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, it was spectacular.  As he finished, a bright star rose over the horizon, rising to right over the top of the tree.  It looked like it had been chosen to be the little bent tree’s personal star.

The little boy smiled and said, “Merry Christmas little bent tree.”

The little bent tree had never stood taller.

The next morning, the tree farmer came out with his chainsaw.  He rode his four-wheeler across the field and up a small hill. There he stopped, and was stunned to find a beautifully decorated Virginia Pine on the hill’s crest. He put his chainsaw back in the four-wheeler and wiped his eyes.

As he saw his son playing off in the distance, the tree farmer realized, Christmas didn’t have to be perfect. It just had to be from the heart.  And on that special Christmas, a little bent tree’s dream came true.

He got to be a Christmas Tree.

Late one Monday afternoon, a lone man sat on a park bench.  He opened up a brown bag, stuck his hand inside and quickly closed it.  He shut his eyes and started muttering something under his breath.  At a time he should of been at work, he wasn’t.

That was the root of all his problems.

While the sky was beautifully clear, James Washington had a thick black cloud hanging ominously over his head. He had recently been laid off from his job. And now, depression had wrapped around him like a straight jacket.  James was paralyzed with an odd combination of the blues, fear and indifference.  A pigeon walked up to him, hoping there would be a scrap of something in the brown bad.  But what James was drinking, the pigeon would have refused.  The fog of his despair swirled around him, leaving him in a black mist.

About 25 yards away was a little boy with his mom.  The boy was trying to learn to ride a bike without training wheels and so far, as best as James could tell, was failing miserably.  But the kid kept after it.  He’d climb on, pedal about five feet and tumble over into the soft grass.  But instead of moping about it, the kid just got back up, dusted himself off and tried again.  Over and over the kid did this until he started to get the hang of it.  His mom would help him roll as few feet and then the kid would go a little farther.  Until finally, about an hour after James first noticed him, the kid pedaled around the park and back to his mom. (where he promptly fell over once again.)

James put his bag down and walked over to the boy and his mom.

“I’ve been watching you, young man. Good job!”

The mom smiled and said, “Thank you.”  The little boy adjusted his bike helmet and  said, “Thanks.”

Then the boy said something in a different voice to James: “I didn’t quit.  I didn’t lie there in the grass feeling sorry for myself. I got back up and dusted myself off.  I could’ve not gotten back on the bike. But I would’ve missed a lifetime of thrills.  I didn’t quit. You shouldn’t either.”

James was taken back by the kids’ comment.  He wondered, “How did he know?..”  James shook his head.  He looked back over at the bench and at the bag.

His tired eyes watered as he looked at the kid.  The little boy looked just like James did as a small child.  And that made James start to think.  Kids have no fear of failure.  They try things. They experiment. They fail and then learn from that failure. Adults? Well adults are so cautious. There are mortgages to worry about and insurance and blah, blah, blah.

And then James realized an undeniable truth: Failure isn’t falling off the bike. Failure is not getting back on.

James Washington fist bumped the little boy and said thank you again to his mother. He then walked back toward his house and prepared to get back on the bike.