By REY FLORES
Christmastime is a time to reflect upon the birth of our Lord and to rejoice in His presence in our lives. That seems simple enough, but the world keeps pushing and pushing us toward celebrating materialism, greed, gluttony, and drunkenness. We must do everything we can to always stay away from a secularized Christmas, especially if you are a parent.
One lesson I learned from my mother a long time ago is one that I have never forgotten. That one moment on a quiet morning in Cuernavaca, Mexico, set a pattern for the rest of my life. It was one of the best gifts my mother ever gave me.
As was common back then in the early 1970s, men would sell fresh raw cow’s milk from the old-fashioned milk cans which they strapped on a donkey, and then they would walk the streets yelling “Leche!” which means milk in Spanish. It wasn’t just milk that we could buy from these traveling salesmen; we could also buy tamales, fruits and vegetables, and even steamed sweet potatoes which we called “camotes.”
On this particular December morning about a week before Christmas, my mother heard the familiar call of the milkman. She gave me a few pesos and a big plastic pitcher to go buy milk from him. While they usually traveled alone, this man had his wife and a young son with him.
Besides the milk, their donkey had a Christmas tree strapped to its back. Since we had not yet gotten our tree, my mom asked me to find out how much they were selling the tree for as well. I cannot recall exactly how much the man said, but apparently it was priced just right for us to buy it.
My mom asked the man if he could please bring it up, and since she had just made breakfast for herself and me, she also told me to tell them to all come upstairs to join us for huevos rancheros. The family looked a little road weary and hungry, so they gladly accepted our invitation.
When they came up, the man introduced himself as José and his wife as Maria. That’s Joseph and Mary in Spanish, in case you hadn’t figured that out. These are very common names in Mexico, so nothing struck us as odd and we chalked it up to being just a coincidence that another José and Maria would be traveling on a donkey around Christmastime.
Somehow the little boy who was about my age escaped the name game and immediately asked me about the toy police car I was playing with. This just wasn’t any police car. This was a really neat squad car I had just gotten for my birthday a week earlier on the Feast Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Not only did it have the top lights that lit up, but it also had a siren that wailed like a real police car.
Not long after the family came up, my mom served a sumptuous feast of eggs, tortillas, hot coffee, hot chocolate, pan dulce (sweet rolls), fresh fruit, and of course fresh milk. It was a meal fit for a king.
During our meal, the family told us how they had to travel a distance to get somewhere and that they were grateful that we made their trip easier by our purchasing their Christmas tree. It seemed like they wanted to stay and chat some more, but they also appeared to be in some sort of a hurry.
Before they left, my mother pulled me aside and told me to put the toy police car in a bag along with some giant sparkler matches which had also been given to me as a gift for my birthday. I first thought she was crazy and that there was no way I was going to give up an awesome new toy which I had recently gotten.
I guess something came over me that in that moment, I detached myself from those toys. As young as I was, I knew that what my mother was asking me to do was the right thing to do. It wasn’t like the boy wanted my toy as much as it was that I was letting go of something that I thought I cared about, when in reality I learned instead about making someone else happy.
Before they left, my mother packed some food for José, Maria, and their son. We all wished each other a merry Christmas and said goodbye. It was a defining moment of my life when my mother taught me the virtue of charity.
When they got downstairs, my mother and I went to the balcony to say goodbye. We saw José help Maria on the donkey and the boy and his father prepared to walk alongside as they made their way up the narrow street. My mom and I looked at each other knowing that we had just experienced some kind of special moment. When we turned to wave goodbye again, they were nowhere to be seen.
We never did ask or find out the little boy’s name, but I think we have a pretty good idea of who it was.
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!
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(Rey Flores is a Catholic writer and speaker. You can contact him at reyfloresusa@gmail.com.)
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