“A rich man eats whenever he wants; A poor man, whenever he can” — lines from a 1960s tune by Peter, Paul and Mary best define who “has” and who “has not” on this planet.
Being among the world’s most fortunate and well fed, who of us has not felt a tinge of unease loading up at the supermarket? How easy to glide the aisles; fill the cart to overflowing from an exotic and endless cornucopia.
At seven I was unaware of another’s need. Sure, the fresh red enamel on my “new” scooter was still tacky to touch Christmas morn and its worn tires were free of tread. Food, though, was always plentiful amid fellowship of family and friends gathered to celebrate the darkest season with the brightest hopes.
While delivering Vancouver’s morning News Herald at 14, “doing without” entered my consciousness and conscience when a hunched figure emerged from the mid-December chill to ask if day-old copies of the paper were available. Pointing to a blackberry-shrouded shack at the back of an overgrown lot, the old man said he couldn’t afford the paper.
Worse, the city no longer permitted him to keep chickens now that he was wedged between two stuccoed subdivisions. Just getting enough to eat was a challenge.
My nine-year-old sister had an angelic voice and that evening I bundled her out into the frosty dark and hustled her door-to-door, west along East 55th. On the promise of a Crispy Crunch, at each doorstep she’d deliver an angelic 20-second burst of Silent Night before we’d scurry to the next house.
Clutching a tuque jangling with pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters, we nearly made it to Fraser Street, with two 50-cent pieces from the crew of No. 17 fire hall at Knight boosting the take to almost $12. It was enough to buy a tinned ham, a jarred Cross and Blackwell plum pudding, a carton of shortbread and a wooden crate of Japanese oranges to put in a paper bag placed under the canvas covering the old-timer’s kindling.
This week, 60 years almost to the day, the haul from a routine trip to the grocer’s was piled high on the kitchen counter. Stripped of its mountain of recyclable plastic, Styrofoam and cardboard, it still topped fridge, freezer and pantry to their brims.
The run was originally to grab only a jug of milk and perhaps scout for not-too-ripe avocado. “Oh, and keep an eye out for ‘a treat!’ ”
With store shelves stacked with seasonal treats that shout “because it’s Christmas,” we complied — grabbing chunks of triple crème brie, vats of mince-meat for tarts and salted caramel biscotti to dip in cappuccino once home.
It is no coincidence. Bearing witness to one person’s hardship at an early age influenced my career choice — telling stories about the human condition that might stimulate awareness and action among others to “make a difference.”
In my near 40-year association with the Times Colonist and its predecessors, the Christmas Fund has been a community keystone for agencies working year-round to put body and soul on a seasonal plain.
Retired Times Colonist city editor and columnist Lon Wood lives in Maple Bay.
How to donate
The Times Colonist Christmas Fund helps people in need in Greater Victoria.
• Go to our fundraising page at timescolonist.com/donate; that takes you to the Canada Helps website, which is open 24 hours a day and provides an immediate tax receipt.
• Mail a cheque to Times Colonist Christmas Fund, 201‑655 Tyee Road, Victoria, B.C. V9A 6X5.
• Use your credit card by phoning 250-995-4438 from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. Monday through Friday.
