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Coach speaks at Wyoming Valley Seventh-day Adventist Church

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St. Mary’s High School Class of 1965 celebrates

<p>WILKES-BARRE &#8212; By the time you read this, I will have spent my Saturday in New York City &#8212; the Big Apple &#8212; with a group of friends.</p><p>We were to tour the city, check out Christmas displays in the Bronx, Queens, Brooklyn and Manhattan, and top the day off with a stop at Rockefeller Center to see the big tree.</p><p>&#8220;It&#8217;s Christmas time in the city, ring a ling, hear them ring, soon it will be Christmas day.&#8221;</p><p>And so goes that great Christmas song, &#8220;Silver Bells.&#8221;</p><p>It got me to thinking. Thinking about Christmases of past, when little Billy O&#8217;Boyle, being the spoiled only child of Liz and Bill O&#8217;Boyle, would climb into bed on Christmas Eve to wait for Christmas morning to come.</p><p>At the crack of dawn, little Billy would jump out of his warm bed and run a few steps to the living room, and what to his wondering eyes would appear, but a room full of presents from Santa Claus. And, the cookies and milk I left were gone, sometimes a note was left from the jolly old elf, thanking me for the snack.</p><p>Oh, those were glorious days of new bicycles, baseball gloves, games, toys and, yes, even some new clothes. Each present was wonderfully wrapped, but I disregarded the effort that went into the presentation of those gifts as I feverishly tore into them to see what was inside.</p><p>Whatever was inside, it was mine, all mine. Oh, thank you Santa. I knew I was a good boy.</p><p>I was also a very lucky boy. I had great parents, including a dad who not only was a decorated World War II veteran, but who had also given his right leg in service to his country. And I was lucky to have him as my dad because he never let his disability keep him down. My dad got a job and worked hard every day to earn enough money to feed his family, put a roof over our heads, clothe us and, yes, spoil his little boy on Christmas and most every other day.</p><p>When you&#8217;re a kid, you don&#8217;t really get what all that means. You don&#8217;t realize just how lucky you are. You never think about all those other kids who are not nearly as fortunate as you are. All you want to do is open those presents and start playing.</p><p>And you want to call your pals and tell them what you got and hear what Santa brought them. It was a Christmas ritual. Christmas morning was a time for all of us fortunate sons and daughters to rejoice in the goodness of Santa Claus and the benefits of being good boys and girls. At least we were able to convince Santa that we were far better than we actually were. Somehow, the chubby guy in the red suit never got all the news about our occasional misbehaving. I guess the North Pole didn&#8217;t receive all the reports on most kids&#8217; behavior.</p><p>But now, many Christmases later, I think about all of those good boys and girls who, through no fault of their own, have not been as fortunate as me and my pals on Reynolds Street in Plymouth back in the day. I think about those kids who want, but rarely receive. The kids who ask and hope for Santa to bring them everything they desire, but don&#8217;t get nearly what they deserve.</p><p>I have seen some situations that have left an indelible mark on my heart. I remember going to a home in Hanover Township one year around Christmas time for Make-A-Wish. It was a single mom with a couple of kids &#8212; good kids, nice kids. We were there to interview the mom about her son who was a Make-A-Wish kid, which means in addition to everything else, this little boy was facing a life-threatening illness.</p><p>While my co-Wish volunteer talked to the mom, it was my job to talk to the child. The protocol was to take the child away from his parent(s) to ask the child what his/her wish was &#8212; what he or she really wanted.</p><p>This kid, who was about 5 years old, looked at me and without hesitation, told me he wanted his mom and his sister to have a merry Christmas. When I recovered from hearing that and the realization of what was going on, evidenced by the fact that there was no Christmas tree in the house, I asked the boy what he meant.</p><p>He told me he wanted Santa Claus to bring them a Christmas tree and lots of presents. Note that the little boy never asked for anything for himself, other than wishing for a Merry Christmas for his mom and sister.</p><p>I&#8217;ll never forget that kid. The family did, as the little boy requested, have a very Merry Christmas.</p><p>I hope you all do as well.</p><style>
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<div class="neCaption">O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/web1_Columnshot-1-1-.jpg</photo0><caption0>O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at boboyle@www.timesleader.com.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Bill O’Boyle, Beyond the Byline: A special kid with a special wish