It’s become an American sport: securing that flat screen or Ipod at the best possible price.  On a day aptly named “Black Friday,”  we saw a dark example of extreme shopping.  Bargain hunters lined up outside a Wal Mart store on Long Island poised to track down those deals.   The predawn dash turned deadly for 34 year old Jdimytai Damour, a worker who opened the door ahead of the mad rush.  He was trampled to death under a sea of greed.   This is the tragic underside of a culture fueled by instant gratification and the never ending need for “stuff.”

This dark news item inspired a childhood memory of mom, a woman from a generation that valued patience and perseverance, along with a general appreciation of good health and a warm home.  These are values you don’t carry through a mall parking lot and stuff in the rear of a Ford Expedition.   They are priceless trinkets that decorate the soul.  At one time,  they made up the American Spirit, along with a self sufficient can-do backbone that supported our optimistic nature.

The year was 1969; a restless time that was a high water mark for many in the baby-boom generation.  But in that year,  my mother and father were mature parents celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary.  That summer was filled with happy commotion around our modest brick home in suburban Pittsburgh.  It wasn’t about Woodstock or the Apollo 11 mission to the moon;  but a simple square room to the left of our home’s entrance.  I was seven years old , and slept in that room with my brother Joe for the early part of my life.  But this was the 60’s; “For the times they are a changin” had meaning in the Schaad house.  Mom was about to realize a dream she had always wanted since she married Dad before the end of World War Two.  She was about to have a special anniversary gift:  her very own dining room.

This is where patience comes in.  We didn’t live in a single room tenement like Ralph and Alice Kramden of “The Honeymooners;”  but Dad built our home with his hands, and it took many years to finish.  My brother Joe and I shared that small downstairs room, and my two sisters had one upstairs bedroom while my father looked for funds to finish the house.   He worked as a carpenter, and work came sporadically at best.  So mom made do, and she did so with a smile.  But now she was getting that special place to entertain guests;  to serve coffee to the nuns–the Sisters of St. Francis,  who were frequent visitors to discuss church canon and the changing role of the Catholic Church in our turbulent world.

Mom picked out a table, six chairs, a china closet and buffet.  My parents paid just under $500 dollars for this handsome set, a princely sum in those days.   Keep in mind,  big box stores like Target,  Wal Mart and Rooms to Go didn’t exist in 1969.  So my mom took the trolley into downtown Pittsburgh to shop.  She often tells the story of standing on the streetcar, carrying the dining room chandelier–the car rocking and click-clacking down the uneven tracks to the South Hills.  But she’ll tell you it was worth it, even though it took 25 years.

Compare that to our increasingly narcissistic tendencies about why we all deserve the special things in life.  “Special things” in this context mean stuff, and we have to have it now!  We can’t wait 25 minutes, let alone 25 years for anything.   One would think our recent financial meltdown would serve as a guide against greed and the drug of instant gratification, but last week the price was a human life.  Something to ponder as we start this season of giving.