When I was fourteen, I remember wanting and getting a clock radio for Christmas.  It had the faux wood finish and numbers that flipped over.  The precursor to digital it seems in retrospect.  But it was cool at the time and I actually used it throughout college.  I can still picture it on my dresser at 61 Lucille Street.  As a kid, I also got pajamas every Christmas eve.  I opened them after Midnight Mass so I could sleep in them before waking just a few hours later to celebrate with my mom, six sisters, and later in the day, my father.

And while these memories are somehow heartwarming, especially during the holiday season, there’s really one gift that stands out as a memory in front of all others.  When I was eight, a family friend, Miss Davies, gave us all gift certificates to Kinney Shoes.  Jackpot.  New shoes and I got to pick them out.  Whatever I wanted.  My sisters and I all thought we’d gone to heaven.  We didn’t get a lot of new things and were generally limited to the sale or clearance items when we did.

Even at that young age, the gift itself seemed decadent. But more importantly, on some level then, and even more today, Miss Davies’ generosity is what truly moved me.  She was a patient at the doctor’s office where my mother worked.  For some reason, they became friends and Miss Davies became a fairly regular fixture at our house. She was a single woman, slightly younger than my mother, who intrigued me.  I was fascinated by her style, mannerisms, patience, and intelligence.  In earnest, I was initially fascinated by her 1968, yellow Mercury Cougar with the headlights that were covered when not in use and the full row of brake lights in the back.  What can I say other than my car fascination started early.

Other than driving what I thought was a cooler car than my mother’s Pinto, Miss Davies was a history teacher who had enormous amounts of patience and a true desire to challenge us to learn and be inquisitive about the world.  Not only did she teach me to play Pick Up Sticks but she later explained Watergate and origin of the phrase “red tape.”  It was always a treat when she came over because she played with us while managing to maintain the calm, cool demeanor that I’ve always associated with her.

But on that Christmas, she had an affect on me that’s lasted nearly four decades.  I think that I was most impressed that she ensured that every one of us received a gift certificate and that we could pick out what we wanted.  I don’t actually remember gift certificates being common then as they are today so that helped to magnify the importance for me.  On a teacher’s salary, even without kids of her own, I can’t imagine that she had a lot of extra cash, but what she had, she shared.  Perhaps she recognized that there were so many of us and we lived fairly meagerly on my mother’s salary.  Or perhaps she just thought that we’d enjoy getting new shoes.  Whatever the reason, she did something so altruistic that each Christmas since I have thought about it and been grateful for her presence in my life.

The irony is that my own son has a shoe fascination.  Cars not so much, but put him in a shoe store and he can hardly stand the excitement.  I know that he’ll appreciate the story when I do share it with him. When I do, I am glad that he’ll already know Miss Davies.  Luckily, this summer I had the great fortune of introducing them.  There we were back in my hometown having lunch with Miss Davies, who now prefers that I call her Pat, as difficult as that is.  We made a deal, I’ll try to call her Pat if she tries to call me Frank instead of the more familiar Frankie.

We had an Italian lunch and true to form she was engaging with my son. “What do you like to study? How do you like living in Mexico? What’s different in Mexico from Washington?” she asked him.  And then in an instant he was responding.  The kid’s got charisma but in this instance I believe that Pat knew exactly the right lever to pull to get him to talk.  Maybe it’s the schoolteacher’s gift to know how to connect with the student. For me, that connection will forever be there, inspiring me to try to be a good man, and bring some sense of joy to others.

So, in this season, I wonder how I can emulate Pat’s affection and love, if not generosity.  How could I touch someone’s heart in a way that might have them remember some gesture of kindness in the decades to come? 

By the way, over our fettucine alfredo and spaghetti bolognese, I asked Pat what she was driving these days.  “A 1989 Toyota Camry that just got a new paint job for its twentieth birthday” she replied.  She drives it into the city every Friday to serve as a docent at the Library of Congress.  A great thing for a former history teacher to do in retirement. Lucky tourists who get her as a docent. I can’t help but think that the Cougar was definitely sportier but the longevity, and likely dependability, of the Camry seem a perfect fit for her now.  The connection that she has with cars, like people, seems to last.