The Woman in the Middle

By Moryt Milo

It was a sight to behold. One day left until Chanukah, 21 days remaining till Christmas, and three women standing in the toy aisles of Target. The Lego shelves looked uncomfortably barren. But the three women refused to give up hope, as if for some form of holiday magic.

They all must have looked frustrated, because a fourth woman stopped at the top of the aisle, looked down the row and chuckled, "You all have the same expression." These three women, who until that moment were only strangers with a common goal, were now united by a mutual dilemma and one very frightening thought, which was voiced by the woman on the left: "I don't want to go to Toys'R'Us."

The woman in the middle sighed, "Neither do I."

But was there a choice? The shelves were woefully picked over and it was only three days into December. Silently, the woman in the middle wondered if it was because of poor inventory control, a strong economy or people already panicking. The third possibility was absolutely terrifying.

The women on the left and right put their coupons away and decided to opt for alternative purchases. But the woman in the middle wasn't so sure. In the past when she'd deviated from her son's wish list, the alternatives were not received as wholeheartedly. But was Toys"R"Us the solution? Maybe shopping on-line was the answer. Just forget the whole hands-on approach. But the woman in the middle wasn't sure if what she ordered would arrive on time. Waiting is hard for an 8-year-old.

So the woman in the middle looked at those empty shelves again and then looked at the endless stream of people wheeling their packed shopping carts and realized what was really bothering her. It was the same thing that got to her every year--simply put, it was the excess.

Excess is a familiar theme in the Silicon Valley. People shop it, drive it, show it, wear it and even dine it. When it comes to holidays, they bathe in it. And every year the woman in the middle wants to send the right message to her children. Every year, she wonders how to put it all into perspective and eliminate the "gimme" mentality. She wonders how to properly teach and explain that the true meaning of holidays goes beyond the month of December.

Then it came to her doorstep on a Sunday morning. It was a book about the fragility of human life and the publisher, oddly enough, was a newspaper. It was an annual holiday "wish book." It told about families that wanted simple things to make their life just a little happier and easier. It told about children who needed eyeglasses and warm jackets and about children who were taking care of younger siblings because of family tragedies. The stories were sad but filled with courage.

The wishes made the woman in the middle cry. But she decided to let her children choose. So she sat down with her children, one on the left and one on the right, and together they read the stories. They talked about how hard it was for these families to earn enough money just to buy the basics and about how special it was for a child to get a new toy. It helped the children better understand how fortunate they were.

The woman's children spent a lot of time discussing the wishes and what it would be like not to have a warm home or a good meal. Then the woman in the middle asked them to make a choice, and the children picked the story that touched their hearts the most.

That night, when her children were asleep and the house was quiet, the woman in the middle sat down to complete the wish book form. She wrote the check and sealed the envelope. And as she placed the envelope in the mailbox, she hoped that everyone's holiday wishes would come true.

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