Ivan's Story (12/19/99)

Ivan's Story

by Victor Bucharew

Ivan was getting cold sitting out in his back yard in the snow. He didn't wear boots; he didn't like them and anyway he didn't own any. The thin sneakers he wore had a few holes in them and they did a poor job of keeping out the cold.

Ivan had been in his back yard for about an hour already. And try as he might, he could not come up with an idea for his mother's Christmas gift. He shook his head as he thought, "This is useless. Even if I do come up with an idea, I don't have any money to spend."

Ivan's father was a Ukrainian immigrant who came to America in the late 1940's. He was a proud, hard-working laborer who came home, lunch box in hand, ready to give Ivan a warm hug and kiss. Ever since his father passed away three years ago, the family of five had struggled. It wasn't because his mother didn't care, or try, there just never seemed to be enough. She even worked nights at the hospital, but the small wage that she was earning could only be stretched so far.

What the family lacked in money and material things, they more than made up for in love, family unity and faith. They believed strongly in their faith and had a deep attachment to their church.

Ivan had three sisters who ran the household in their mother's absence. All three of his sisters had finished sewing beautiful Ukrainian gifts for their mother. Somehow it just wasnít fair. Here it was two days away from Christmas and he had nothing.

Wiping a tear from his eye, he kicked the snow and started to walk down the street to where the shops were. It wasn't easy being 7 years old and without a father, especially when he needed a man to talk to.

He walked from shop to shop, looking into each decorated window. Everything seemed so beautiful and so out of reach. As he reluctantly turned to walk home, he suddenly caught the glimmer of the sun's rays reflecting off of something along the curb. He reached down and discovered a shiny dime.

Never had anyone felt as wealthy as Ivan felt at that moment. As he held his newfound treasure, a warmth spread throughout his entire body and he walked into the first store he saw. His excitement dissipated when salesperson after salesperson told him he could not buy anything with only a dime.

He saw a flower shop and went inside to wait in line. When the Ukrainian shop owner asked if he could help him, Ivan presented the dime and asked if he could buy one flower for his mother's Christmas gift. The shop owner looked slowly at Ivan and his ten-cent offering. He leaned forward and put his hand on Ivan's shoulder and said, "You just wait here and I'll see what I can do for you."

Ivan waited, he looked at the beautiful flowers and, even though he was a boy, he could see why mothers and girls liked flowers.

The sound of the door closing as the last customer left jolted Ivan back to reality. The last one in the shop, he began to feel alone and afraid.

Suddenly the shop owner came out and moved to the counter. There before Ivan's eyes, lay 12 beautiful fresh long-stemmed roses, with leaves of green and tiny white flowers all tied together with a big silver bow. Ivan's heart sank as the owner placed them gently into a long white box.

"That will be 10 cents young man," the shop owner said, reaching out his hand for the dime. Slowly, Ivan moved his hand to give the man his dime. Could this be true? No one else would give him a thing for his dime!

Sensing the boy's reluctance, and knowing the boy's family from church, the shop owner added, "I just happen to have these roses on sale for 10 cents a dozen. Would you want them?"

This time Ivan did not hesitate, and when the man placed the long box into his arms, he knew it was true. As the shopkeeper turned inside, his wife walked out. "Who were you talking to back there and where are the roses you were fixing?"

Staring out the window, and blinking the tears from his own eyes, he explained: "A strange thing happen to me this morning. While I was setting up to open the shop, I thought I heard a voice telling me to set aside a dozen of my best roses for a special gift. I wasn't sure at the time whether I had lost my mind or what, but I set them aside anyway. Then just a few minutes ago a little boy came into the shop and wanted to buy a flower, for his mother, with only one small dime.

"When I carefully looked at him, I saw myself, many years ago, in our village in Ukraine. I, too, was a poor boy with nothing to get for my mother. A bearded kind old man, whom I never knew, and never saw again, stopped me in the village and told me he wanted to give me a large bag of fresh fruit. When I saw that little boy, I knew who that voice was, and I brought out the dozen of my very best roses that were set aside."

The shop owner and his wife hugged each other tightly and thanked God. As they stepped out into the bitter cold air, they heard the ringing of their church bells in the distance. They somehow didn't feel cold at all.

* * *

Victor Bucharew is a Ukrainian community activist from Harrisburg, Pa. His most recent submission to The Weekly was "Camp is for counselors, too," published in our "A Ukrainian Summer" issue.

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