Remembering past gifts during the Christmas season

RELEASED: December 17, 2009

By Leigh Ivey

DANVILLE, KY—As the saying goes, gifts come in all shapes and sizes. Whether they are tangible offerings or acts of kindness, gifts are everywhere this time of year.

Every member of the Centre community remembers a special gift they have received or offered, and this year, several share their favorite memories of the gift-giving season.

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John Rusnak, web and communications assistant

One of the best gifts I ever got for Christmas was from my older sister. I use the word "best" because it was a complete surprise, it was personal, and it had sentimental value—and I'm usually not sentimental. So the gift from Audrey was really special in more ways than one.

After my parents passed away, we decided to get rid of the family piano when we placed their house on the market. The instrument was at least 40 years old and had seen better days—some of the hammers were broken, the finish had been marred by water and several of the top, flat pieces of the white keys had fallen off. It would be expensive to fix and neither I nor my four siblings were interested in repairing or keeping it.

Before my sister gave the piano to a local junk man, she kept some of the top, flat pieces of the piano keys that had fallen off but didn't tell anyone that she saved them. And for Christmas a few years ago, she had one of those key tops mounted and framed, and gave it to me as a present. (She did the same for my other siblings.)

It's a special and memorable gift because that was the piano that I learned to play on, wrote many songs on, and used photos of for my debut CD. Our family shared many musical memories on that instrument, so there was a lot of history tied to this tiny 1" x 2" piece of what was a huge part of my and my family's life.

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Julie James, assistant professor of language

The best present that I ever gave anyone was a rock.  

On June 6, 2007, Patrice and I took our daughter Amanda to the annual commemoration of the D-Day Landings at the American Cemetery in Normandy, France. As we entered the property that day, several people were standing at the gates handing out flyers to announce a special upcoming event scheduled for July 4.

These flyers explained that a group of French citizens were planning to organize a human chain to spell out the words "France Will Never Forget," and the organizers were inviting others to join them in their effort. Their plan was to record the gathering and to send videotapes to all of the major U.S. news networks so that the American public could see that the people of France valued their centuries-long history of friendship and cooperation with the U.S.

We decided to attend.

That Fourth of July turned out to be one of the coldest, wettest, and most miserable days of the season, with winds gusting from the north that seemed to just blow right through our bones. Despite the weather and the many hours of waiting in the cold before the organizers were ready for us to take our positions, I was really surprised to see how patient, positive and friendly everyone was.

Once everything was finally ready, the organizers separated us by groups of about 40 people per letter and asked us to get into position. As we walked with our group members along the wide expanse of beach to take our places, an older gentleman in our group overheard us speaking in English and he asked if we were British, to which we replied that, no, we were American. The whole group then stopped walking and we all watched as this gentleman reached into a heavy satchel that he had been carrying to pull out an object that he then put in my hands. He did this twice more, handing things also to Patrice and to Amanda. When we looked down, we realized that we were holding rocks displaying the words, "Omaha Beach, 6 June 1944" painted in blue letters.

Speechless, we looked at the gentleman, awaiting an explanation. He proceeded to tell us the story of a little boy named Hippolyte from St. Lo (in Lower Normandy) who was six years old when the German tanks rolled into his city. Hippolyte's parents, terrified about what might happen to their son if they sent him to school, decided to hide him in their cellar and claim, if asked, that they had no children. Little did they know at the time that the occupation would last another four long years.

Well, it turned out that the gentleman telling us this story on July 4, 2007, had actually been that little boy who was forced to hide in a dark and damp cellar for four years. Hippolyte, the now grown man, looked me straight in the eye and said words that I will never forget. "For four years, I could not see the sun. In August of 1944, I was ten years old the day that the Americans brought me sunshine. Since that day, I have promised to say 'thank you' to every American I meet. I thank you."  

Not knowing how to respond at first, I shook my head and eventually told him that I could not accept his gift because not only had I not participated in the Liberation, but that I hadn't even been born in 1944. He said, "No, but surely you know somebody to whom you might give this rock on my behalf."

I did know somebody.

The following December, I wrapped up the rock and, on Christmas morning, handed it to my stepfather, Dave, a man who had spent his entire career in the army. Dave removed the gift wrap, looked at the rock for a moment in silence and then began to cry. Nobody in the house uttered one word. Today, the rock is being displayed prominently on Dave's bookshelf and I know that no matter what I give him for future Christmas presents, no gift will ever compare to that simple, painted rock that I received from a 73-year-old man on a beach in France.

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Ibrahim Jadoon '13

I was excited! (See photo.)

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Bob Brownlee, professor emeritus of economics

In 1997, Phyllis Passariello, two or three Centre students and I delivered a wheelchair to a woman with severe ambulatory disadvantages. She lived in the remote Napo River forests in the Ecuador Amazon. We traveled by canoe (20 miles?) to a site near her home, canoed to a landing closer to her home, and then walked about a mile through the forest to her home, all the time transporting her wheelchair. We (Centre) had not purchased the wheelchair, but we did make the delivery, which could not have been done in another way.
(See Phyllis Passariello's response below.)

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Phyllis Passariello, professor of anthropology

(Response to Bob Brownlee's story)
"I remember that very, very well. I remember taking the wheelchair on the motorized dugout canoe and then trying to push it through the mud to get it to the right place. And I think we had to cross a homemade suspension bridge too! Then when we got there, the woman was sitting/lying on a palm-thatch mat on a concrete floor, where she had been for about three years!

Her family was so grateful that they started running around trying to do something for us. They cut down coconuts and gave us fresh cocos to drink. I remember running into the bushes to hide my tears. The impact of delivering that chair was almost too much to take in. (It WAS too much....)

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Jana Flygstad, director of Centre Flutes

Each December, Centre Flutes Ensemble goes to Charleston Health Care Center to hand out candy canes and perform Christmas carols for the residents. It was a blessing for us to give the gift of music and bring holiday cheer to the residents of the Charleston Health Care Center.

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Founded in 1819, Centre College is ranked among the U.S. News top 50 national liberal arts colleges. Consumers Digest ranks Centre No. 1 in educational value among all U.S. liberal arts colleges. Centre alumni, known for their nation-leading loyalty in annual financial support, include two U.S. vice presidents and two Supreme Court justices. For more, visit http://www.centre.edu/web/elevatorspeech/

For news archives go to http://www.centre.edu/web/news/newsarchive.html.