Tag Archives: Christmas

Column: Holiday Ball Drive

by Woody

 ‘Holiday Ball Drive’ is kids’ stuff

Editorials are generally as disposable as the newsprint on which they are printed, and yet one that appeared in The New York Sun in 1897 might as well have been carved in granite because it remains relevant and favored well over a century later.

BallDriveHeadlined “Is There a Santa Claus” it began with a letter from young Virginia O’Hanlon:

“Dear Editor –

“I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ‘If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?”

The Sun’s reply included the now famous line, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus,” and continued: “He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.”

Indeed, how dreary would the world be with no Virginias – and, alas! no Briannas, Sarahs, Mitches and Myas.

In the spirit of love and generosity, “Woody’s Holiday Ball Drive” officially kicks off its annual efforts today to bring a small measure of joy into the lives of disadvantaged children.

The seed for this endeavor was planted about 20 years ago at a youth basketball clinic when former Ventura College and NBA star Cedric Ceballos awarded autographed basketballs to handful of lucky attendees.

Leaving the gym afterward, I happened upon a 10-year-old boy who had won one of the prized keepsakes – which he was dribbling on the rough blacktop outdoor court and shooting baskets with while perhaps imagining he was Ceballos.

Meanwhile, the real Ceballos’ Sharpie signature was wearing off.

Curious why he hadn’t carefully taken the trophy basketball home to put safely on a bookshelf, I interrupted his playing to ask.

“I’ve never had my own basketball,” the boy answered matter-of-factly between shots.

1ballsAt Christmastime, visions of that boy – and other boys and girls like him, who don’t have their own basketball to shoot or soccer ball to kick or football to throw – danced through my head. So I asked you dear readers to help make the holidays happier by dropping off a new sports ball (no batteries required) at a local Boys & Girls Club, YMCA, youth recreation center, fire department, Special Olympics chapter or house of worship. The organization’s leaders will see that the gifts wind up in deserving young hands.

Over the years you have responded like MVPs – Most Valuable Philanthropists – and I am once again asking you to deck the halls with sports balls. If you participate, please email me at woodywriter@gmail.com so I can add your generosity to this year’s tally.

It is not only kids who receive the gift balls, some of the most inspiring donors have been kids, too.

Kids like 10-year-old Sarah and 8-year-old Mitch who emptied their “Jar” of chore money to buy a soccer ball and football to donate.

Kids like 12-year-old Mya who used babysitting money to buy seven soccer balls.

Kids have used their birthday money to buy gift balls and one boy asked his grandparents for a new football – and could he please have it a week early so as to have time to donate it to someone who otherwise wouldn’t get a Christmas present?

Kids like 9-year-old Brianna, who wrote me: “I saw your wish list in the newspaper and I wanted to help. I know how important it is to help others. So this year I saved money by collecting recyclables. So I was able to give: 5 basketballs, 2 footballs, 2 soccer balls, 1 volleyball, 1 bag of baseballs, 1 bag of softballs. I hope this helps.”

What The Sun declared more than a century ago it says here today in The Star: Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and kids like Brianna, Sarah, Mitch, Mya and other amazing kids like them exist.

*   *   *

Wooden&Me_cover_PRWoody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.

Check out my new memoir WOODEN & ME: Life Lessons from My Two-Decade Friendship with the Legendary Coach and Humanitarian to Help “Make Each Day Your Masterpiece”

Column: A Christmas Story

by Woody

Visiting Santa in a Nick of Time

 

            Seeing children visiting Santa at the mall the other day made me wonder what they are asking for – Xbox One, Razor Crazy Cart, and Big Hugs Elmo top the Toys“R”Us 2013 hot toys list – and also got me to reminiscing.

 

The winter I was five there was only one thing I wanted for Christmas. No, not a bike or baseball mitt. I already had a twice-hand-me-down two-wheeler with coaster brakes that could skid on a dime and a thirdhand mitt better than brand new because it had been broken-in to supple perfection by my two older brothers.Santa

 

What I wanted was a rope. Moreover, for some reason it had to reach from the far wall of the dining room across the house to the kitchen’s furthest wall.

 

            Mom had always taken us to Lazarus Department Store to see Santa; always on the very first day he arrived; and always she came home on the edge of a nervous breakdown after trying to keep three rambunctious young boys in line – and in line – for an hour.

 

But this year Pop promised Mom he would take us. As each day passed and Christmas drew nearer and nearer, he kept putting the visit off. When Jim, Doug and I started to whine, Pop took us aside and shared a big secret we were not to tell Mom.

 

            “If you go too soon,” he explained, “Santa sometimes forgets what you asked for. Think of all the kids he talks to. So the closer you wait until Christmas, the better the chances are Santa will remember who you are, where you live, and what you asked for. If we go see Santa on Christmas Eve afternoon, there is no way he will forget you.”

 

Pop’s real secret, of course, was this: There is no line whatsoever to see Santa on Christmas Eve afternoon because only a knuckleheaded parent would torture kids by making them wait so very long.

 

            Christmas Eve finally arrived, and sitting on Santa’s lap I said: “I want a rope that reaches all the way from the kitchen wall to the dining room wall.”

 

            “Ho-ho-ho. What else do you want, young man?”

 

            “That’s all, Santa. A long cowboy rope.”

 

            Like my parents, and Saint Nick, you surely are wondering, “Why a rope?”

 

            Gee whiz, to make a lasso for roping our dog Mac and swing from a tree like Tarzan and play Batman by making foot traps to catch Penguin and Joker (my big brothers) and a thousand other things.

 

            When we returned home from our Lazarus excursion a half-hour later – the 10-minute drive each way included – Mom shot Pop a stare that would freeze Prestone and scolded: “I told you that you waited too long! Santa was gone and now don’t you feel terrible? I’m so sorry kids … ”

 

            Pop: “They saw Santa.”

 

            Jim, Doug and me (in happy unison): “We didn’t even have to wait in line!”

 

            I’m guessing Mommy didn’t kiss Santa Clause underneath the mistletoe that night.

 

            Early Christmas morning, we tore down the stairs and tore open our presents and inside one was a fat, silky-soft, white nylon rope, the tips of both ends melted coal black to prevent unraveling.

 

Before celebrating the glorious gift, I made Pop hold one end against the dining room wall while I marched across the house with the other end.

 

            Pop admitted many years later he was literally at the end of his rope in panic because he had not measured the actual distance between the two walls; he just went out and bought a generous length of the nicest rope he could find.

 

He also confesses that as I neared the far kitchen wall, and the rope began to grow taut, he pulled his end away from the dining room wall about two feet – which, in my excitement, thankfully went unnoticed by me.

 

Indeed, I not only thought Santa came through meeting my exact specifications but I was certain this was because we waited until Christmas Eve afternoon to see him so my gift request was fresh in his mind.

*

Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for the Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com. His new memoir WOODEN & ME is available at www.WoodyWoodburn.com and Amazon.com.