The last thing we need in Pickens County is a coal ash dump. But it seems we’re in danger of acquiring one. On the face of things, it appears that there’s been some subterfuge on the part of the company proposing the project, as there was nothing about disposing of coal ash in the initial proposal.

Coal ash contains substances that can contaminate ground water and subsequently constitute a public health hazard. To date, seepage from 300 coal ash dumps has contaminated drinking water.

Arsenic, mercury and lead are three of the substances in coal ash. All three cause major problems in both humans and wildlife.

No amount of lead consumption is acceptable. Certain levels of arsenic and mercury can cause cancer and heart, lung, nervous system and brain damage.

Unfortunately for us, according to the U.S. Department of Energy, “Under South Carolina regulations, fly ash, bottom ash, slag and flue gas emission control waste generated primarily from the combustion of coal or other fossil fuels are exempt from regulation as hazardous waste. Regulations authorizing reuse of coal combustion byproducts, (CCBs) were drafted in 1994 by the South Carolina Department of Health and Environmental Control (SCDHEC) but have reportedly been abandoned. According to SCDHEC, it may proceed instead with reuse regulations for all industrial solid wastes, including CCBs.”

Anyone can go online and research the matter.

At this date, no public hearing has been held. It is my understanding that the permit issued the company to construct a waste disposal site near the county’s industrial park contained no language giving permission to accept coal ash. The initial permit was issued for construction waste.

I believe this is called bait and switch.

Around 70 percent of all coal ash dump sites are located in low-income communities. South Carolina already has more than her fair share.

So why compound the problem?

Experience shows us that no matter what a company claims, the risks to human life far outweigh the benefits.

On one hand, thousands of lives are put at risk. On the benefit side, a few shareholders rake in some profits. Which is more important?

A company can claim the risk is negligible. It can say if liners are properly installed, there is no seepage. But that’s a pretty big if.

Especially if the company serves as its own watchdog and there’s no real scientific oversight.

Nationwide, billions of dollars have been spent trying to make contaminated drinking water safe. Our county has already suffered countless misery from the PCB contamination of the Twelve Mile River.

It will take more than four centuries for the PCBs to break down and become harmless.

What can we do? Contact your state legislature and ask for state regulation for coal ash. If a public hearing is scheduled, make sure you know when and where and show up.

Talk to your county council representatives to find out what the county can legally do to oppose the coal ash dump.

Remember, it only takes a few minutes to make a phone call. We can’t sit back and expect other people to take care of the problem, because sometimes other people think the same thing.

I hope we can find a way to prevent this. Sometimes we can make good things happen.

Inner Space

Dear Editor,

We know more about what’s out there in space than we do about what lies below our very feet.

For all we know, there may be giant cathedral-size caverns just below our dwelling places.

In Florida not long ago, I read where a man was asleep in bed and his entire bedroom fell into a sink hole some 100 feet across. He was never found.

It’s like we’re living on the front porch of a house and we’ve just looked into the windows and have only gone in that house as far as the living room.

There may be all kinds of beauty just below us we don’t know about — cascading waterfalls, rivers or stalactites and stalagmites hundreds of feet tall.

There could also be unknown civilizations living just below us. Civilizations of advanced beings. You never can tell.

At one time there was a belief that the Earth was hollow. Some thought if you went to the North Pole, you could go into the Earth and find a tropical paradise.

Admiral Byrd flew over the North Pole and proved that false.

Still, I believe we have an unknown world below.

Maybe not tropical, but a dark world devoid of light.

There are fish swimming in the rivers that are there. Trout have been found by cave explorers which are without eyes. The fish, not the explorers.

It would seem by living in a constant dark atmosphere, they adapted by being born with no eyes, just white spaces where eyes would have been. What other beings may live there?

What else is down there? Perhaps Bigfoot? We’re too busy as a race to think about that. We’re too worried about what’s out there beyond the solar system instead.

If you are a young person reading this, think about someday forming a movement to go below and explore. Make sure you know how to properly exsplore first. Don’t want you becoming lost, never to be seen again! There are many mysteries no doubt waiting on you to be solved truly. More than enough territory to explore as well. Enough for generations to come. The adventures of a lifetime await you — just go below. What stories you could tell to the world.

Will you be one of the first to go?

P.S. Let’s not forget the Oceans.

Two-thirds of the Earth is covered in water. What lies beneath there remains to be discovered!

Eddie Boggs

Westminster

When we were children, the excitement and anticipation on Christmas Eve at Grandmama’s was unmatched by any other night of the year. The old house seemed filled with joy and laughter. I remember how we’d run out into the front yard once it got dark and see how our Christmas lights looked on the front porch.[cointent_lockedcontent]

Uncle Walter would string lights throughout the wisteria vine that grew just beneath the porch roof from end to end. There’d always be fresh cedar, and a holly wreath would hang on the old front door.

We had a cardboard manger scene we put together each year before everything else began.

In the window of the front living room would be three red candles, plugged in and shining through the dark.

From the other window, our Christmas tree was seen in all its glory. Our precious strand of bubble lights would be front and center, and our angel would keep watch over all from the tree top. We always checked to make sure the tree could be seen from the road.

We wouldn’t be able to stay outside long, because even with our coats on we could feel the cold. We’d run up the steps and through the front door, fling our coats and hats in the general direction of the hat rack and fly into the kitchen to warm our hands.

There was a potbellied stove in the kitchen lit first thing every morning. But at night when we went to bed, none of the rooms were heated. There were gas heaters in bedrooms, but they weren’t used at night. And Christmas Eve was no different in that way.

They’d put us to bed early. We’d lie there in the dark and try to go to sleep, but it was impossible. The old house would pop and creak in the cold, and presently we’d hear footsteps going up and down the hall. The front door would open and close. We’d hear Uncle Walter thumping down the hall with his walking stick and the low murmur of voices.

Eventually we’d pass out from exhaustion. We’d usually wake up sometime during that long night and think it was time to get up, so we’d run down that cold long hall to Mama’s room and burst in, asking in piercing whispers, “Is it time to get up?”

We’d been told we could get up at 5 a.m., and surely it was that now.

Poor Mama would say, “No. You children go back to bed. It’s barely midnight.”

Sometimes she’d give us a baby aspirin. This was supposed to calm us down. She’d go with us back to the bedroom and shush us, tuck us in and cut out the light. Eventually we’d doze back off. And then, we woke up, somehow knowing that even though it was still dark, it was morning. We’d race down the hall to Mama to check and she’d say, “Go get your stockings and bring them back to bed.” She’d get up and put on her robe and follow us down the hall to the front living room. I’d always slip out onto the front porch to look up into the night sky to see if I could see the star. I always thought I could.

We’d take a quick look to see what Santa Claus had brought and take our filled stockings down from the mantle. Then we’d fly back to bed with our stockings while Mama lit the fire in the fireplace. We could hear Gramdmama in the kitchen putting on the coffee and Uncle Walter thumping along the hall.

And then we’d be in bed with our stockings and look at the wonderful things we found there.

We’d always have toy tin horns stuck in the top. They made an unholy racket when blown. There’d be hard Christmas candy, tangerines and oranges and nuts. And there’d be something special. I remember the year I got a big box of Crayola crayons and a thick roll of colored construction paper and my own scissors. It was thrilling.

And then we’d bundle into our clothes and race out to the car with Mama to go get Flora. We’d have our horns with us and would be blasting away when we rolled into her yard. There’f be a light on in her kitchen. We’d roll down the windows and yell, “Merry Christmas,” blowing our Christmas horns. Flora would come out with her coat and hat, wearing her big white apron.

We’d blow the horns as loudly as we could as poor Flora climbed into the car, and then we’d ride back to Grandmama’s, excited beyond description.

We’d all gather in the living room. We’d plug up our tree, the adults would have their coffee, the fire would be blazing in the fireplace and we’d get to really look at the larger item Santa had brought each of us and then take turns opening our gifts.

Most of the small gifts we children gave came from Woolworth’s dime store. The wrapping may have been a bit dog-eared, but those presents were beautiful to us. We were so proud that we could buy our own gifts for the others. Nickels and dimes would accumulate if they weren’t spent, and special jobs could bring in a little extra.

The year I’ll never forget is the Christmas we both got bicycles. It was the biggest day of my life to date. I have a picture of us with our bicycles taken that Christmas morning. Every time I look at it, I am taken back to that day.

I still love Christmas, all parts of it. Planning, cooking, preparing for family and friends, finding special things for those I love and even wrapping.

We still go out and cut our own tree and bring it home to decorate. Christmas is about loving and giving. That’s the important part. And each unique activity that goes into making Christmas happen is an important part of the whole. We love and are loved. We give and receive. And we open our hearts. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

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Without a doubt, this has been a trying year for South Carolina. We have witnessed and experienced tough times — from the tragic killings at Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston that left our great state shaken to its core, to the recent floods that damaged many areas across the state. We have endured the deaths of Walter Scott and Officer Greg Alia. It has truly been one of the most emotional years in the history of our great state.[cointent_lockedcontent]

As the Lord typically does, He has ensured we did not endure these trials and tribulations for no reason. I have had the opportunity to talk with almost all of the families involved in these events, and their strength, their dignity, has served as a guiding light for our state and our nation. Personally, each one of these tragedies has touched my heart in a unique way, and all those affected by these tragedies are certainly in my thoughts and prayers this holiday season.

So now, as Christmas is upon us, I hope we will all take time with our families and reflect on the many blessings given to us by the good Lord. For me, the holiday season is not only meaningful and special because it gives us the chance to be thankful for our blessings and the strength to overcome hardships as a country, but it is also an important occasion for us to remember and serve on behalf of those who are less fortunate during this time of the year.

I want to thank and recognize those all across our state who are actively making a difference and reaching out to help others in many ways. These folks have helped with preparing thanksgiving turkeys at church for families in need, tutoring kids after school, and taking the time out to support our veterans. They work with the homeless and those who cannot care for themselves, and dedicate their lives to giving other folks a hand up when they need it. Even in times of great tragedy, as we’ve experienced this year, the power of helping others and the generosity of our spirit cannot be dampened.

I came into the U.S. Senate with the expectation of making a significant difference in Americans’ lives — the Americans who lack hope and do not have access to many opportunities that would help them achieve the American Dream. As 2015 winds to a close and a new year greets us, I will continue to fight for those opportunities.

Looking forward to 2016, our nation still faces huge challenges, like tackling the threat of ISIS, getting spending under control and protecting our constitutional rights. I am working hard to ensure that we have a safer and brighter future.

I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and may you and your family have joy, peace, prosperity, and good health.

Tim Scott is a U.S. Senator from South Carolina.

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The pantry in my Grandmama’s house was a treasure cave. It joined the kitchen and the dining room, with swinging doors at each entrance. Inside the pantry were shelves on three walls reaching all the way to the 14-foot ceiling.[cointent_lockedcontent]

And on those shelves were rows and rows of fruit jars filled with vegetable soup, asparagus, green beans, tomatoes, peaches, pickles and jellies. Big bags of sugar and flour were kept on the bottom shelves next to stores of other kitchen necessities.

Against one wall stood a pie safe where pies and cakes were stored for family get-togethers and a sturdy table used for meat cutting and other food-prep functions.

In the fall after hog killing, the table would be scoured and returned to the pantry in readiness for the next project.

The fat links of sausage hung in the smokehouse, and the last ham had been prepared for curing.

It was time to make the fruit cakes. Everyone in the household was involved in this. As Grandmama always said, “Many hands make light the work.”

Grandchildren were a source of free labor, and we were set to the task of cracking pecans and picking out the meats. This was demanding work, as it was vital that no bits of bitter shell should be mixed in with the nut meats.

There were always two huge fruit cakes to be assembled. One was Mama’s favorite, a white fruit cake. Uncle Walter and Matt preferred the dark fruit cake.

The white fruit cake had golden raisins and slivered almonds, and the dark one had dark raisins and pecans. Sultanas, citron and different candied fruits like pineapple and cherries were used.

The huge crockery bowls would come out, dozens of eggs would be separated, and the process of slicing, dicing, chopping, beating and whipping would go into high gear.

The heavy metal tube pans would be brought out. Children were good for tearing off sections of waxed paper, setting the pans on the paper and for drawing around the bottom of the pans and inside the circular tube to get a perfect fit. The sides, bottoms and tubes were thoroughly greased with Crisco, the wax paper circle was carefully pressed in the bottom and then the paper itself was greased.

All the candied fruits would be coated with flour and folded into the stiff batter. This took muscle, and Uncle Walter or Matt would do this.

Then the batters would be poured into the pans, and into the oven they’d go.

After about an hour and a half of baking, the cakes would be pulled out and a long, clean broom straw would be inserted into the cake. If no crumbs clung to it when the straw was withdrawn, the cake was judged done and removed to cool.

There were large round tin containers waiting for the cakes.

Each tin would have a clean dishcloth laid in the bottom. The cooled cakes would be turned into the cake tins, wine would be dribbled by the tablespoon over the cakes, and then they’d be wrapped with the dish towel and the lids would be snapped into place.

And then, for the next few weeks before Christmas, the process of wine dribbled across the cake would be repeated at regular intervals. The cakes had to ripen before they were sliced. The slices had to be thin and when held to the light appear translucent.

We always thought sliced fruit cake looked like stained glass windows. It was part of the ritual approaching Christmas, and even now just seeing a picture of a real fruit cake brings it all back. I’m thankful to have the memory of that special time.[/cointent_lockedcontent]

Editorialists and commentators have chastised the South Carolina legislature relentlessly for failing to get anything done during the 2015 session. In fact, though, they did plenty of work.[cointent_lockedcontent]

This year our Legislature met from January to July, and during that time 1,336 bills were filed between the House and Senate. Of those, 131 were passed by lawmakers. In addition, 950 resolutions were filed, and all but 64 of those passed.

The question, of course, is this: How many of these were actually worth legislators spending over half a year in Columbia?

The length of South Carolina’s legislative session has consequences. Studies have found that professional, full-time legislatures are more prone to pressure from lobbyists — and this translates into higher spending and more favors for special interests.

Consider this year’s attempt to deal with roads. There are two ways to devote new revenue to roads: raise taxes or cut spending. But lobbyists — in this case, lobbyists working for companies and industries that would benefit from additional spending on roads — aren’t going to urge lawmakers to pay for new road projects by cutting other parts of government. They’re going to urge tax hikes. And thanks to South Carolina’s long legislative session, they had plenty of time to do it. In the end, thanks to citizen groups raising the alarm, they weren’t successful. That’s a rarity, unfortunately, and tax hike supporters are sure to be back in January.

According to one media account, toward the end of session legislative leaders even tried to prevent the Board of Economic Advisers from publicizing a revenue surplus, presumably on the grounds that a surplus would undermine the argument for a tax hike. That simply couldn’t have happened without a lengthy session.

Or take ethics reform. The year began with a few good proposals, but the longer they sat in committees, the longer lawmakers had to water them down or amend them with insidious provisions. A bill to reform the state’s Freedom of Information law gained a provision allowing government agencies to take citizens to court for filing “frivolous” FOIA requests. A bill to require elected officials to disclose their sources of income eventually included a provision loosening requirements on disclosing government income. And so on. The longer the session went on, in other words, the more pointless these bills became.

Or consider the debate over the bond bill. House lawmakers introduced a bill to issue bond debt and use the money for a variety of largely unnecessary projects connected to state colleges and universities. It would have been difficult for lawmakers to pass such a controversial bill within the confines of a short session. As it was, though, they were able to introduce the bill; then take it off the floor when the Policy Council and (separately) the Gov. Haley raised objections; then find ways to pay for the new projects through the General Fund; and then spend much of the rest of the session trying to figure out how to pass the bond bill anyway, which they were almost able to do.

In short: our excessively long session gave the State House complex — lawmakers, lobbyists, consultants, various special interests — plenty of time weaken reform, make tax hikes more likely, and spend every last available dime of revenue.

What should a session-shortening bill look like? A sensible reform would be to mandate an end to sessions by the second Friday in April, making each one last roughly 90 calendar days, and holding session every two years. This would encourage lawmakers to use their time — and our money — more wisely.

Members of the House argue that they pass a bill every session to shorten session but Senate ignores it. That may be technically true, but this year, anyway, the bill they passed was anemically weak. The House of Representatives passed a bill that cut a mere ten days off session. The Senate’s bill would have shortened session by three months. It wasn’t passed, but at least it was worthy of passing.

Our legislature’s job is to ensure that citizens’ rights are protected. After they do that, they should go home. More time leads to more mischief.

Cecilia Brown works as an research assistant at TheNerve.org and its parent organization, the S.C. Policy Council.

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We were watching the news yesterday and saw a head shot of a well-groomed woman who is considered armed and dangerous and is wanted for attempted murder.

I was surprised because her mug shot was so flattering.

Apparently this lady was already facing attempted murder charges from a previous incident.

On the bright side, it isn’t believed that she has assault weapons with her; just regular hand guns and rifles. So if you do run into her there’s no need to worry, as eventually she’ll have to stop and reload, giving you a chance to escape.

In addition to attempted murder, she is also a person of interest in the possible kidnapping of a man she offered a ride to. He hasn’t been seen since.

First we wondered why she was wandering around loose to begin with. If a person is charged with attempted murder, it seems to me it shouldn’t be a big surprise if they try again.

After all, if at first you don’t succeed. She is now on the lam. Perhaps next time she will be able to actually murder someone. They say the third time’s the charm.

Sad to say the most surprising thing to me was how attractive she was in her mug shot. Her hair was nicely done, she had on makeup — but not too much — and was pretty. She apparently had all her teeth and didn’t look like a meth addict.

Grandmama taught us it’s important to never leave the house unless you look your best. Of course, she observed this maxim even if she wasn’t planning to leave the house.

Does this explain why this person was free as a bird after her first attempted murder charge? Because she looked very much like Alice in Wonderland. Did this influence the court?

This leads me to conclude that you should maintain your grooming at all times. Especially if you are going to be arrested.

It would be appalling to appear on the news or in the paper in an unflattering mug shot. You would be an embarrassment to your entire family. If you do plan a crime, please make a fashion statement.

Robbing the convenience store? Don’t go inside wearing a gray hoodie and dark glasses. Dress up. Look your best. You will avoid suspicion and lessen the chance of being shot yourself. And if you are arrested, chances are you will receive better treatment in jail and in court.

It’s important to put first things first. So, prior to undertaking a criminal act, I’d suggest a trip to the beauty salon followed by a makeover session at a cosmetic counter. Then get a manicure and pedicure before counting and loading your weapons.

Make sure your handbag is coordinated to your outfit and is large enough to hold a hand gun. This will take you far. And never forget to check your hair and makeup before holding up a place or taking a hostage.

We all want a mug shot that could also be used on our Christmas cards. There would be lots of time to address them and include a personal message to friends while waiting in jail for your trial to come up.

Praise and thanksgiving

Dear Editor,

All too often we just hear the bad things happening around us. We live in a fallen world, where bad things seem to be the norm. However, this letter is one of praise and thanksgiving for a God who loves each of us and cares about the little things in our life. And then to the good people of Pickens.

Last week, Dec. 3, after a long, busy day, I made a quick trip to Wal-Mart here in Pickens. Once I returned home, it was several hours before I realized my phone had not rang — and this is most unusual for me. To my surprise, the phone or my purse was not in my house nor my car. I knew that I had it when I left Wal-Mart, because I unlocked the car and drove home.

Long story short, I do not know where I left it. I do not make a habit of putting it in a buggy. Once I realized it was gone, I really panicked.

Looking back, I questioned how my faith disappeared in fear. But the fear was real.

My daughter was a big help — she called my phone, and immediately it rang her back. Seeing my number, she thought I had found it. The lady on the other end said she heard the phone ring in a purse in an off-limits room at Wal-Mart. She said I would have to come in person to identify it.

Needless to say, first I offered a prayer of thanks to God above for His protection and His intervention of what could have been a disaster.

And last, but certainly not least, I want to thank the unknown person or persons who found my purse and returned it to the service desk, who in turn placed it in another safe place.

I know it went through at least three different hands, and each one had the opportunity to do harm. However, nothing was out of place or missing. I find this amazing.

My faith in the people of Pickens is tremendous. It blesses my heart to see God at work through His people, and to God be the glory. Sometimes I think He allows things to happen to teach us to trust and praise Him through our fear. His love and goodness was magnified through the actions of unknown people, and I am truly grateful.

I know of no other way to say thank you except in the hope you see this letter.

Sylvia Dover

Pickens

What’s the real reason?

Dear Editor,

I have a question. How come no one is demanding to see Ted Cruz’s birth certificate?

Cruz was born in Canada, and his father was a Cuban refugee who helped to put Castro into power. His mother is rumored to have renounced her U.S. citizenship and become a citizen of Canada.

So how come no one is questioning his birth certificate? Is he an American citizen or a Canadian?

Or is the real reason no one on the right is questioning his birth certificate but questioned President Obama because of skin tone?

Larry Allen

Easley

There are some things I don’t need to see when we go shopping. I know my weaknesses, so I need to stay away from shoes, lamps, chairs and handcrafted objects.

Ever since I was a tiny girl, I’ve been fascinated by elephants, and if I see a hand-carved elephant or a nice elephant sculpture I’m drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It can’t be just any elephant. The elephant has to look happy, with trunk and head raised.

As a 5-year-old girl, I asked Santa Claus for a baby elephant and hoped I’d get one for Christmas. But alas, it never happened. Mama explained that elephants had to live in certain places, and you couldn’t keep them in your bedroom. I still hoped.

I couldn’t read “Dumbo” and never saw the movie, because I can’t handle stories about animals that are hurt, lost or separated from their mothers.

Grandmama had to set “Black Beauty” aside and read something else to us, as I’d cry when Black Beauty was thin and hitched to a wagon. Even though I accepted that I’d probably never get an elephant for Christmas, I enjoyed reading about them.

My favorite elephant story was the Dr. Seuss book about Horton the elephant, who hatched an egg for a negligent mother bird who abandoned her nest.

He promised he’d do it, and he did.

I love this quote from Horton.

“I meant what I said and I said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful 100 percent.”

Even though I have nowhere else to put an elephant in my house, it doesn’t prevent me from wanting another one. So I have to be very careful when I go shopping and try to protect myself from temptation.

There are several stores that often have very nice elephant sculptures, and I’d avoid them if I could. But on occasion when there is a necessity I must have, like a new frying pan or set of glasses, I am forced to go inside.

I suppose it’s like any addiction. Even though I try to stay focused on the frying pan, I can feel the shelves of home décor calling to me across the store.

I tell myself, “Don’t go over there. Buy the frying pan and get out.”

And sometimes I’m able to do it. But there are other times when the little devil that sits on my shoulder whispers into my ear, saying, “There’s nothing wrong with looking. Just because you go over there to look doesn’t mean you’re going to buy anything.”

I know that’s true, but I also know that if I see something really beautiful it’s very hard to walk away. What an inner struggle is created just by walking by a shelf of inanimate objects.

It’s like an alcoholic walking into the liquor store and walking back out empty-handed. But it can be done. If I don’t listen to the shopping devil and walk straight out of the store after buying the frying pan, I’m much better off.

I’m working toward achieving a state of being where I don’t want elephants in my life. Progress has been made, as it’s been at least two years since I fell off the wagon and bought one. Christmas is approaching, and shopping will happen, giving me an opportunity to test my ability to resist the call of the wild. My struggle to avoid elephants will be ongoing.

The deer rifle on Christmas

Dear Editor,

A long time ago, there lived a man and his wife who had five children — four sons and one daughter.

The oldest son asked his parents for a hunting rifle but was told that they couldn’t afford one. He was told if he would work all summer and save his money, he could buy one. That’s exactly what he did.

He took the gun out hunting when deer season came in and killed his first deer.

Any of you hunters? Remember your first gun. I do — I still have mine, and all of Bill Gates’ money isn’t enough to buy it.

Three days before Christmas, the children except the oldest son were called around for some bad news. The parents knew the oldest son would understand. There wouldn’t be any presents this Christmas. Santa Claus wouldn’t be coming.

The father had just gotten out of the hospital, where he had had an appendix operation, and lost five weeks out of work.

Not wanting the children to be totally without Christmas, they bought each one a bag of candy and bought a sack of oranges for them to share.

Christmas Eve came, and the father took the children out in the woods to cut a live tree, trying to make Christmas as happy as possible.

The tree was decorated with lights and all the trimmings.

It had to be one of the saddest Christmas Eves ever. You’re a child going to bed knowing there won’t be any presents under the tree in the morning for you.

The next morning the parents awoke to the sound of happy children’s voices. They might be up to no telling what!

Entering the living room, they saw the tree all lit up and Christmas wrap all over the floor! The children all had a toy!

The second-oldest son came running, up exclaiming, “Mama, Daddy, I got a scout knife!”

The two youngest sons had Cowboy pistols and paper caps to shoot in them. The daughter had a babydoll like little girls played with then, hugging it.

Each parent asked each the obvious questions. Did you buy the toys, and if not, who then?!

It was then they heard a voice from behind say, “Mama, Daddy, I bought them.” They turned to see their oldest son smiling.

He was asked how. Where did he get enough money?

His answer — he had heard the parents telling the children about no Christmas. How did he get money? His answer — “I sold my rifle. I didn’t want them to have no Christmas presents on Christmas.”

This young man sacrificed something  precious to him to bring happiness to his siblings.

Why? A small word, yet so powerful, spelled L-O-V-E.

Christmas is when we celebrate the greatest love of all.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only beggotten son that who should belive on him should not perish but have everlasting life.”

Sad we have made Christmas a commercial event.

This year, give the greatest gift of all — love. Help someone in need. Make their Christmas a happy one like the one in this story.

P.S. This was a true story.

Eddie Boggs

Westminster