Christmas Assumptions

It happened almost twenty years ago. It was on a day like today: cold outside and just prior to Christmas. I haven’t thought about the incident for quite a while, but somehow, it’s back in my mind.

Back then, my wife, Karin, was a teacher’s assistant at the Tamarack Waldorf School on the east side of Milwaukee. Karin helped teach handwork to the students. Waldorf schools put an emphasis on having the children learn to how to make things with their hands. It is an essential part of the school curriculum. Karin taught kids from each class how knit, crochet, and sew. She has always been creative with fiber arts, and she loves to show other people how to do what she can do.

When I had days off from my job, I would visit Karin at the school. We would go out for lunch, and then I would wander around the downtown area while she taught her class. When she was finished at the end of the day, we would go home together. I generally had a couple hours to just explore the city or walk down to the lakefront. I enjoyed doing that.

One of the places I liked to visit was the Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist, which is only maybe half a mile from the Waldorf School. The Catholic cathedral is a massive building with two sets of heavy doors at the entrance. Once inside of the church, the noises of the city traffic are almost completely blocked out, and the interior of the church is dark and silent. It’s an excellent place to think or meditate or just sit.

I liked to go there to meditate for a while. I had started going to a Zen group, and I wanted to spend more time meditating. Some environments are conducive to meditation. The cathedral had a stillness that made meditation easy. There were minimal distractions. During the week, the church was nearly empty, although on very cold days the pews in the back were occupied by homeless people looking for shelter. They sat bundled up in their clothes, often dozing off. The cathedral was one of the few places downtown where these folks could sit and rest. It was then, and probably still is, a refuge for poor and forgotten people.

On this particular day, I walked into the cathedral and found a seat in a row near the altar. I picked a place where I would be alone. I settled down and closed my eyes. I started to concentrate on my breathing. Then I heard noises. They got closer and closer to me. Then the sounds and the person making the sounds were right next to me.

I opened my eyes and looked to my right. Sitting next to me was a middle-aged Black lady. She had numerous plastic bags with her. She appeared to be a homeless person who was carrying all of her belongings with her. The woman was missing teeth, and I couldn’t understand her when she spoke. She talked to me, and I got the impression that she wanted something. I didn’t know what that something was.

During my visits to the cathedral, I was sometimes hit up for money. It didn’t happen often, but occasionally a person would ask me for help. I decided that this woman wanted some cash. I reached for my wallet and dug through it. I only had two singles on me. That seemed rather pathetic. I pulled out the two bills and handed it to the lady. She nodded and thanked me.

I closed my eyes again and tried to relax. The woman was scrounging around in one of her plastic bags. I heard her muttering and digging deep in the bag. I found it annoying, but I just tried to ignore her.

Then she tapped me on the arm. I looked at her and she handed me an envelope.

She said, “This is for you.”

Then she gathered her possessions and shuffled off. I sat in the pew and stared at the envelope. I opened it. Inside the envelope was a used Christmas card. I opened the card.

Inside of the card were my two dollars. 

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This first appeared in The Havok Journal on December 24, 2024.

Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.