Friday, December 18, 2015
My sincere sympathy to the Prodehl family. Likely many of you will not remember me or my family, but the Prodehls left footprints on this family's heart.
I had just finished Chapter 13 of my first book scheduled to ship to the printers ealy in 2016, when my sister-in-law notified me of Don's passing. I had so hoped to share this story with him,but I was a few weeks to late. I now share it with you.
Most Sincerely,
Mary Ellen Aschenbrenner
1652 Hilda Drive
Sandwich, IL 60548
Chapter 13 of Born To Be A Star by Mary Ellen Aschenbrenner
The Christmas the Prodehls Put Spirt Back into Christmas
Christmas, a time of happiness, joy, and believing, but, someone forgot to tell the children.
As each child was added to our nest, we told them, "Santa is the Spirit of Giving". Always under the tree were gifts from the jolly man for both Mike and me, as well as Grandma and the kids. To believe was to receive. If you don't believe, you don't receive.
Twelve year old Michael knew Santa was a myth, merely the representative of giving and he was smart enough to know open profession of disbelief to his sisters would result in an empty stocking.
Three year old Janet bubbled with anticipation. She painted cookie-dough ornaments and extended paint to her nose exclaiming, "I have a red nose just like Rudolph." Michael joined Janet in making a "merry mess". Together, they coated their ears as well as their noses in effervescent color. Silent and reserved, Amy spent time alone in her room.
This holiday was a first for eight-year-old Amy - the first year she openly acknowledged and expressed her disbelief. "I'm sorry Mom, I just don't believe," she said with a guise of melancholy.
Mike and I were not ready to throw in the towel and let this Christmas be one of cheerlessness for Amy. "One more Christmas!" we vowed.
Now to develop a plan devoid of loopholes even a grown-up child genius of eight might believe. We employed, free of charge of course, our divine next door neighbors Rose and Bern Prodehl to be Santas. Instead of stashing our wrapped presents in the basement shower stall, used only in the summer, Berne and Rose stored them in their basement.
"Yes Amy, Santa is a spirit. The Spirit of Giving," I said. "But one must believe to receive. Is there not a gift under the tree each year for Grandma, your dad, and for me? We believe. We receive."
Nothing could erase the tears from her puffy eyes. Heart-broken. Truly forlorn. Days came and days disappeared along with any hope she would change her mind.
"Give up," Mike finally suggested. "She'll get through it just like every other child does."
"No," I urged. "One more year. One more year and then, sometime next summer, we'll tell her."
Mike left it up to me to fill in the details. I developed the perfect scheme. Each year we spent Christmas Eve with Mike's parents and siblings at their very crowded bungalow on Westwood Avenue. While we were gone, our Santas would put the gifts under the tree.
"Santa comes at all hours of the day and night but only when everyone is gone or asleep," I preached. Janet said she was going to sleep lots and take an extra nap. "Me too," Michael chimed. Amy remained silent - as silent as a winter's night.
Michael and Janet, and Amy as well, expected Santas gifts to magically or not so magically appear during the late night after we returned home from Grandma and Grandpas. They always did. Presents would be in place for unwrapping on Christmas morn. This year, things would be different.
We'd go to late afternoon church service and then go to the grandparents'. While at church, presents would appear. I'd make some lame excuse after church as to why we needed to stop back at the house before heading to the elder Aschenbrenners.
We loaded our car with presents for Mike's family and went to church. Service was heartwarming as always. After church, Mike asked, "What's the plan?"
"Over the meadow and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go," I sang.
And then…out came a wailing "OH NO!"
"Oh no…I forgot the Jell-O salad I promised to bring. We'll have to stop back home and pick it up."
Mike smiled his sheepish grin, winked, and headed home.
When we pulled up in front of Waverly, I handed Amy the house keys and asked if she minded running in and getting the salad sitting on the middle refrigerator shelf.
Of course she didn't mind. It was Christmas.
She unlocked the door, flung it open…
Flamboyant shouts of "I BELIEVE…I BELIEVE. I BELIEVE!" reached every housetop on the block. The Prodehls brought the Spirt of Christmas back to our humble home.
Amy truly did believe, even if it was for just one more year. She wrapped herself in the belief of the spirit she had seen so often in the Prodehls - kind, loving, gentle, and generous people who warmed our hearts every day during our long seventeen year stay on Waverly.
When we moved to Shorewood, we cried. Not because we were moving. We had desperately wanted to move for years. We cried because these amazing people would be miles away and not next door. We'd have to love them both from a distance.
Amy was confirmed the following year. Rose was her chosen sponsor.
