A Christmas Carol

Ever since I could read, Charles Dickens has been my favorite author. I have read all of his works several times.

As a child, my best friend was 75 years older than I. Mrs. Scully (we never called her Bertha. However, her husband was always “Jim”) was a retired school teacher, childless, and both kind and generous to several poor families in our neighborhood, including ours. Mrs. Scully provided food on the table when there was none, rent/a mortgage when it was due, or a new washing machine or refrigerator to families in need.

She taught me how to appreciate the performing arts, poetry, prose, etc. And as a student, she was my benefactor in completing my music education. Mrs. Scully was one of three people who changed the trajectory of my life.

When I was 10, and she 85, during the holiday season, my assignment was to read Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.” Mrs. Scully confessed that she never finished the novel. She could not bear that Tiny Tim dies. When I said to her, “But Mrs. Scully, Tim does NOT die,” she stared back at me wide-eyed. That week, after over 70+ years, she finished reading the novel.

Every year after that, during the Christmas season, we joyfully read that story together until the day she passed at 92 years old.

It was not until I was an adult did I realize what a miraculous gift we had given to each other. Maybe that is why I hold the works of Charles Dickens so close to my heart.