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PAGE 6, WIIITBY FREE PRESS, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 23, 1987 e w VOICE OF THE COUNTY TOWN Published every Wednesday By 677209 Ontario Inc. Phone: 668.6111 Doug Ander son Publisher Maurice Pif her Editor Peter Irvine Advertising Manager Alexandra Simon Production Manager The only Whitby newspaper independently owned and operated by Whitby residents for Whitby residents So all can make merry It's a mixed bag of children's attitudes toward Christmas, according to Canada Post which handles thousands of letters to Santa at this time of year. And even this newspaper's much more limited collection, 4from Whitby schools, of student reflections on the season, can bring both amusement and pathos. Younger students ex- press understanding, yet also innocent ignoran- ce, toward the significance of the season; a love for tradition yet occasional departures on flights of fancy, including Santa's jet-propelled sleigh; material want for some, heartwarming generosity shown by a few. Together with these observations, we add that mostly adult efforts will mean a merrier Christ- mas for Whitby's 300 or so needy. Leanne Doupre, a Whitby caseworker with the Durham Region social services department, has learned that Christmas hampers which each contain food, toys and clothing.are more abundant than ever this season -a tribute to the Whitby ser- vice clubs and church groups which undertake this magnificent effort every year (And we do not wish to neglect, in Our praise, the individuals who anonymously contribute). With the donations "as good as they've ever been," it's evident that the lessons learned when young at home and school are not lost on many. Be'it ever so, to ensure that "Merry" and "Hap- py" include ail residents regardless of circum- stance. A Whitby Christmas story BY FRANK NEWMAN It was a street of old and new. Like many others in the neighborhood, it was a combination of large new homes looking down onthe backyards of older bungalows. Bobby Westmrarch stamped his feet as he stood waiting for the local bus. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, Dec. 24. His hand reached inside his leather jacket and he took out a crumpled envelope to read the letter again. It was from his Uncle George in Singapore. Uncle George had gone there in the early fifties and made his fortune in Coca Cola and Schweppes Ginger Ale. Every year at Christmas, he sent Bobby $20 in a bank draft drawn on the Shanghai and Hong Kong Bank. This year, it was almost late. Bobby had checked the super mailbox every day since December 1 until it finally arrived, with only two hours left to shop before the stores closed. The bus, one ot the new ones with heaters and a new paint scheme, arrived. Bobby hurried on board. At 15, Bobby was taller than most kids his age. It made him self-conscious, but he was caught between youth and manhood and his awkwardness was made all the more obvious by his -height. Lately, he had taken to slouching in class. The driver almost asked him for adult fare, but stopped himself as he recognized Bobby. Bobby sat at'the back of the bus. It wound through the subdivision and down the street. Using his elbow, he rubbed a porthole in the steamed-up window to peer at his old public school as they drove by. he always said he'd go back and visit, but there never seemed to be any time. He'd feel like an alien to walk along those corridors again. The bus jerked to a stop and an elderly man got on the bus. Bobby knew him as Mr. Sheppley, a neighbor from the next street over. Mr. Sheppley was wearing a brown cloth coat and an orange and white striped touque. His sandy colored hair peeked out from beneath the touque. He had been retired for some time. Hs cheeks were blotchy with red and white. he sighed heavily as he sat down in front of Bobby. Bobby hadn't seen him for sometime. With his hair streaked and brushed way back, Bohby figured Mr. Sheppley hadn't recognized him. Just as well, he thought, he'd had enough hassles about his new look frorn his parents. Mr. Sheppley turned around abrupty and looked at Bobby. "Going shopping, Bobby?", he asked. "Yeah, Mr. Sheppley, I am." "Something for your girlfriend, I bet," Mr. Sheppley said, winking. "No, I don't have a girlfriend, at least, not yet...anyhow." "Don't worry," Mr. Sheppley said with his red cheeks, "They'll come soon enough. That's what I'm doing. Getting a present for my wife Mabel. I haven't been out for weeks." He thumped his chest. "Not so good, eh?" Bobby slumped in his seat and stared out the window. Seeing this, the , old man frowned. "I ain't contageous, you know." Bobby felt bad, and wanted to say it was okay, but the words weren't there. Perhaps Mr. Sheppley would get off soon. Mr. Sheppley turned around. Bobby studied the fods of skin in the back of the old man's neck. The bus stopped in the centre of a new subdivision. Bobby observed the powder snow blowing against the skeletons of the new houses, the exposed wood gaunt and defenceless against the indifferent snow. "Mr. Sheppley turned around. "What time do the stores close tonight?" "Six o'clock, I guess," Bobby replied. "Sure hope I've got time .to get something for Mabel. This rotten cold's kept me in. Ive always bought her a present. Think I'll find something nice for ten bucks? Money's been tight this year." Bobby pursed his lips. "I dunno, depends what you call nice." 'You and I might have differing opinions on that, mightn't we?" Bobby smiled. "I guess so." The bus pulled into line beside the other buses at the fire station. Santa and his reindeer beamed down from the sign on the building. "You haven't told me what you're shopping for," Mr. Sheppley said. "Something for me - I'm not sure what Ill get, but Ill get something, I always do." The exchanged "Merry Christmases". Mr. Sheppley headed up Brock Street while Bobby went into the bank. He ~~-Jjcrie. cashed the cheque and then debated. What should be get? For the first time, he had absolutely no idea. With twenty bucks, you could get a lot of things. Best of all, it was all for him. He grinned and set off up the street, fingering the bill in his pocket. This should be fun. He checked out the record store, but nothing came to mind. He wasn't really sure what he wanted. There were a couple of records, but maybe he could find something else. As he was leaving the store, Mr. Sheppley came in. He nodded at Bobby. Bobby smiled and held the door for him. He watched Mr. Sheppley head for the sound track section and then Bobby left. It was getting colder outside. He did up the top button on his coat. He went window shopping up the street, glancing in the bakery. The place was packed. He stopped and looked in the picture store. Nice stuff there, but not for him. He ran across the street, dodging cars to stare at the girl in the bikini in the travel agency window, wondering how warm it was in Mexico. In the reflection of the window, he saw Mr. Sheppley on the other side of the street. He wasn't carrying anything. Instinctively, Bobby checked his watch. Almost five o'clock. Bobby went into the travel agent's to look at the brochure. It was warm inside. The girl behind the counter (he thought he'd seen her at school) smiled at him and asked if he needed some help. "No, just looking," he said, as he walked out. Mr. Sheppley was standing outside, lost in thought. The tips of his ears were cherry red with cold. "You okay, Mr. Sheppley? You haven't bought anything yet?" He looked up at Bobby. "Can't find anyuthing decent for ten bucks." "Why don't you put it on plastic?," suggested Bobby. "My parents always do, then they fight about it afterwards." "No, I don't have one of those. I saw a nice music box for fifteen bucks, but that's too much for me. I've got to keep looking. I see you haven't bought anything either." "No, but rm close." "That's good, see you later." Mr. Sheppley went off, crossing the street again. Bobby brushed the snow from his hair. Brock Street was stopped up with northbound traffic. The impatience of the motorists was almost audible. Where to go next? Bobby knew he had the money to spend and he wanted to spend it so he could put it under the tree from his favorite uncle. It had to be the right thing, not garbage. He decided to go back to the record store. He stopped to feel for the bill inside his pocket. When he couldn't feel it through his gloves, he pulled off his glove and pulled the pocket out. To his surprise, the bill flew out and landed in the.slush in the centre of the road. The light changed and a GO bus came rushing down. The bill disappeared from sight as first the bus, then a succession of cars and trucks, passed over the spot. Bobby stood there anxiously. As soon as the light changed, he ran out through the slush to where the bill had been. No sight of it. He kicked at the slush, hoping to uncover it. Nothing. Then ha saw it - on the other side of the street, perched on the curb. Forced back to the sidewalk by the stream of cars, he stood and waited. Finally, he spotted a break in the traffic and dashed across. There, holding the $20 bill was Mr. Sheppley. He seemed puzzled by Bobby's sudden appearance, then a smile beamed from ear to ear. "You won't believe it. Look at this, I found it crumpled up on the curb. It's a wonder no one saw it before. There's no one around, either." Bobby was too out of breath to speak. 'You okay?" he asked Bobby. "Yeah.......well....." "I've got an idea - you don't seern to be having much luck with shopping either - why don't we split it? Ten bucks each. A young guy like you can always use some more money. What do you say?" Bobby hesitated. The old man looked at him. Bobby thought, it was my money. Another minute and I would have spent it. Then he shook his head. "No, you keep it. That's fair. Get something really nice for your wife." "You're sure?" "Positive." Mr. Sheppley smiled. "You're a good kid, in spite of your hair." He grinned and shook Bobby's hand. "You have a great Christmas." 'You too, Mr. Sheppley." Mr. Sheppley put the bill in his wallet and went into the nearest boutique. Bobby wasn't sure what he had donc, except that it felt good. The more h thought about it, the better ho felt. The snow swirled down. Ho took off a glove to catch a snowflake. He watched it dissolve in his palm. Bobby decided to walk home, rather than take the bus. Whistling, ho strode north up the streeet. Behind him, in the haze of snow and blur of colored lights, the metallic Christmas tree strung high above the intersection, danced on its wires likp a happy child. The Free Press Building 131 Brock Street North. P.O. Box 206. Whitby. Ont.