Christmas is my favourite time of the year. It brings back memories of when I was a child. I remember how excited I would be as Christmas Day drew near. But my favourite memory of Christmas isn't filled with the thought of receiving toys or candy. My favourite memory is a simple one. It's filled with the love and cheer of a three inch by six inch Christmas card. In 1960, the card was sent to my parents from a sports shop owner. That was the same year I was born. Each Christmas, as my mother decorated our tree, I would take the card from the box. Her favourite song was "An Old Christmas Card," by Jim Reeves. It could be heard as we decorated our tree. The card became a magical part of my Christmas with each passing year. My parents have since passed away and now the Old Christmas Card means more to me than any Christmas gift. I can't remember not being able to read that greeting. Reading was a natural thing for me and I never thought too much about it. Sadly, many Newfoundlanders and Labradorians can't read that simple greeting. Christmas is a time of sharing and I would like to share that message with you. Warm as glowing embers, the Holiday Spirit rekindles old friendships year after year. At this season, we pause to remember our friends, and to tell them we are thinking of them. We hope to share with you the ageless joys of Christmastime. May your Christmas be the happiest and the merriest ever. What a wonderful Christmas it would be if every Newfoundlander and Labradorian could read the simple message of An Old Christmas Card.

vo*cab*u*lar*y

ag*i*ta*tion - a feeling of being upset a*mend*ment - a change to something cen*sor*ship - the act of stopping or changing something. psy*chol*o*gy - the science that deals with a person's feelings and actions

I have been Christmas shopping. My wife let me go by myself this year. The store was full of busy women and sad men. The sad men were husbands following along behind their wives. As I passed them, I could hear the men muttering words under their breath. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but it didn't sound like their prayers. There were three classes of men in the store. The lowest class was the men who were walking behind their wives. These men were like little puppies on a leash. The second-lowest class was the men who were sitting on the benches, waiting for their wives to finish shopping. They were a higher class because they refused to drag along behind the women. I was in the second-highest class. These were the men who were shopping all by themselves. I felt proud to be in that high class. But I often wished I was in the highest class of all. They were the men who stayed home.