The Most Good

Ho! Ho! Ho! Chocolate Chip cookies in the oven. 🎵Jingle bells, jingle bells (sometimes Batman smells) 🎶. Small town Main Street shops all dressed up. Twinkling lights tucked behind silver garland on evergreen trees. 

Stockings hung by the chimney with care.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

The gentle ringing of a bell being swayed by a volunteer near a red kettle. Every Christmas season you can find Salvation Army bell ringers full of joy and holiday spirit, collecting donations for those who otherwise would do without. They take on the weather and have long hours on their feet, yet they’re always in a jolly mood.

Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!

There I was in line with my family, and we were going to see Santa Claus — and this close to Christmas too! I couldn’t believe my eyes! The line wrapped around the Salvation Army building and was full of families like ours. I was fidgety and impatient, rocking from foot to foot and slowly shuffling forward when the space became available. Counting ahead — only three, no, now only two. Oh, now just one! We’re in front of Santa! What do I want?!

Tap. Tap. Cha-ching.

The Blue Ridge Mall in Hendersonville, NC, was like most small-town malls. The biggest store was always K-Mart, there was a bookstore, an arcade, and a K-B Toys tucked among local franchises. It was a sight to see all the people hurriedly completing their Christmas lists. In the middle of it all? A dark evergreen tree with steady amber lights adorned with shiny garland and paper angel ornaments. The white paper angels bore the age, gender, wants, and needs of a child, and at the bottom a red Salvation Army shield. They called it “The Angel Tree” for more than one reason.

Mom. Mom! MOM!!!

Little Philip: Look what I have!!

Mom: Where did you get those?

LP: Santa!! Here at the Salvation Army!!

Mom: …

LP: Look! He gave every kid two presents each!! See?!

Mom: I do.

LP: I’m going to ope…

Mom: Not until Christmas.

LP: But…

Mom: Here, help me with this box.

LP: Ugh. Hey, this is kinda heavy.

Snap. Crackle. Pop.

Almost every year in elementary school, as the holiday season started, there was a canned food drive. Usually, a cardboard box covered in shiny paper would be placed in each classroom, and sometimes the winning class would get a pizza party or at the very least extra recess time. I always made sure to bug Mom for at least one can to bring to help out.

Click. Crank. Whirr.

There were quite a few cans in the brown corrugated box that I lugged from the Salvation Army building to the car. Cans of different pastas, boxes of cereal, boxes of mac and cheese, canned cranberry jelly, pouches of tuna (though we didn’t have a cat, so I’m not sure…), and multiple cans of puréed pumpkin. But Mom always bought pumpkin pies from Ingles.

🎶 Silent night, holy night 🎵

That Christmas passed like all the others — crisp cool air, family, home-cooked meals, and gifts from Santa, Mom, Dad, and others. We sat among the discarded wrapping paper that covered the floor, playing with each toy until we fell asleep from exhaustion.

And that Christmas for my family and many others, the Salvation Army did the most good.

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The Salvation Army showed my family the most good at a time when we didn’t have much. If you’d like to know more about the work they do, you can visit them here:

https://www.salvationarmyusa.org/

A Joyous Ruckus

 

WHAM!! PUSH!! POW!! SLAM!! RUN!! SWING!! GRAB!! PULL!! DODGE!! JUMP!! Pant. Pant. Pant. Hands on knees. Rest.

That’s about how my first mosh pit went at a P.O.D. concert that I dove into with Lam. I had been against the stage before, close enough where the bass determines your heartbeat. I hadn’t even thought of moshing before then. Lam let me know this was a mild one compared to others he had been in, THANK GOD!

The next concert with Lam was Disturbed with a Daughtry opening at Gas South Arena in Duluth—a venue where I had attended other concerts and All Elite Wrestling shows. This time we were on the same concrete floor that was usually covered in ice for the hockey games. After grabbing a couple of drinks, we made our way toward the front and stopped about two rows of people short of the stage. The surging crowd pressed us closer to the security railing with each passing song.

During the booming drums and screaming guitars of Daughtry, I decided to FaceTime Elle. She could barely hear and probably understood even less of what I was trying to share with her. As the song finished, Lam grabbed my phone and exclaimed to her, “I’m taking you guys to Counting Crows for your birthday!”

There was no mosh in this pit, just people singing, jumping up and down, dancing, and headbanging. The crowd exhaled pure energy back to the rockers. As the lights came on after the last song, I noticed something: the band was throwing out drumsticks and guitar picks! And I was close enough if one came my way!

Looking up, I saw a flash of green triangular plastic heading my way. Could it be?!? Yes!! A pick—maybe I could catch it!

I anxiously stood on my toes and pressed forward, just like I was back in the upper bowl of the Asheville Civic Center at the Neal McCoy Ingles Food Show, not wanting to miss out.

I felt my fingers tap the flying guitar pick and instantly I was wide-eyed, mischievous, and full of awe—just like Elle at the Salvage Station when she tapped Michael Franti’s shoulder.

The feel of hard plastic brushed against my hand, and I was back at Philips Arena, slow dancing my last first dance in the aisle with Matty while Luke Bryan sang only for us.

As I pushed against other hands and fingers, the pick jumped and tumbled around.

Then it fell still.

After all these years, did I really, finally catch the pick?…

Reggae and Jeep Snores

 

It’s just an old black Jeep. I bought it when Elle was four and I’ve had it ever since. It’s taken us up and down many highways and still bears her middle school honor roll sticker on the windshield. It wobbles, shakes, and is noisier than a plane about to take off, but it always got us there.

One of our many adventures ended up at the Salvage Station in Asheville. It’s an open-air concert venue that is home to stacked shipping containers, food trucks, picnic tables by the river, and Elle’s second concert with me. We arrived early enough to grab a bite to eat and explore the grassy field for a place to sit during the Michael Franti concert that we were about to witness.

Near the front, concertgoers had already laid out blankets, towels, and anything else they could to secure a spot close to the action. Remembering from earlier, I took us over to a couple of smaller platforms that were set up away from the main stage. We sat on the ground between them and waited for the music to start.

The opening reggae band finished, and after a short delay, Michael Franti began to play. As the sun set and the night sky filled with stars that mimicked LED fibers, the crowd surged toward the stage; realizing we wouldn’t get close enough to catch a souvenir, we stayed right where we were with our unobstructed view.

Magic struck during the middle of the concert when Franti hopped off stage and began singing and strumming his guitar through the crowd. And his destination? One of the two platforms that we were situated between! Elle would be close to the action after all! I glanced down for just a second, and when I looked back up—he was right beside us! She looked to me for approval; after a quick nod, she hesitantly reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

As I looked back down, her face was beaming and the Cheshire Cat could not have produced a bigger grin. I looked back up, blinked, and just like that the music had finished, and the stage lights were now aglow. We hurriedly made our way to the parking lot, climbed into the Jeep, and began to pull out.

“Wasn’t that great?! You got to tap him on the shoulder!!”

She quietly snored from the passenger seat.