Why the sweetest gift of all is community
Real-life stories to inspire you this holiday season as part of the CBC Sing-In charity drive
This Christmas story was written and read at the CBC Sing-In on Dec. 9. It is inspired by our charity, West Island Community Shares, and the people who are touched by their good work.
It's often hard to know who's going through tough times.
When you take the highway through Montreal's West Island, you catch a glimpse of what appears, from a distance, to be a suburban oasis. What, we may wonder, do West Islanders have to worry about, besides the commute?
But things are rarely what they seem: One in five West Islanders relies on the support of West Island Community Shares, an organization that raises funds for 40 local community groups.
And thanks to a generosity of spirit that is not exclusive to the holiday season, many of those helped by West Island Community Shares are themselves reaching out to help others.
You can listen to the Sing-In on Christmas Day at 1 p.m. on CBC Radio 2 or on CBC Radio One at 9 p.m. The Sing-In is also available online here.
Lourdes and Nasir Asghar
Take Lourdes Asghar. Her parents disapproved when she told them she'd fallen in a love with a man in her French class. It was 1975. Lourdes was from the Philippines; Nasir, from Pakistan.
Despite her parents' disapproval, Lourdes married Nasir. Her dark eyes shine when she says, "I proved to my parents it would work."
Now retired, Lourdes, who's 77, and Nasir, who's 66, have discovered line dancing. Friday mornings, they take a line dance class at Volunteer West Island's Young-at-Heart Community Centre for Seniors in Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue.
Married 39 years, Lourdes and Nasir know they're lucky. Many of the others in their class are widowed. But line dancing doesn't require a partner. That's an advantage for seniors.
Participants dance in four rows, doing a side shuffle to Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On. Nasir dances behind Lourdes, smiling when she shuffles by.
Because many of the dancers are hard of hearing, their teacher shouts out instructions, like, "Cross to the left!" A moment later, she adds, "Hey, I saw a few wrong lefts!"
Younger students might be insulted, but these ones burst into laughter.
Class is slated to run for 75 minutes, but it goes longer — because everyone is having fun. A former nurse, Lourdes points out that, because it takes concentration to follow the steps, line dancing activates the body and the brain.
Lourdes and Nasir took up line dancing after their daughter and grandchildren moved to Toronto. Until then, their daughter and her kids had been their chief source of happiness. Lourdes and Nasir realized they needed to get out more.
Line dancing helped.
Because they've experienced the comfort of community, Lourdes and Nasir decided to give back by doing volunteer work. Every month, they serve breakfast to other seniors at Beaconsfield United Church. As Lourdes puts it, "We have to serve sometimes, too."
Tyler Gallaher-Ryan
Beaconsfield United Church is also home to the West Island LGBTQ Youth Centre.
Tyler Gallaher-Ryan is a regular there. Tyler seems older than 16. Not because of his height — he's only five foot three — but because he's articulate and possesses a wisdom that comes from weathering adversity.
Tyler was in fifth grade when he realized he was gay. Though his family is supportive, Tyler faced — and continues to face — school bullies.
In Secondary 1, when he came out to friends at Rosemere High School, word spread quickly. Tyler's eyes darken as he remembers those days.
"I was the 'fear factor.' When we were changing for gym, all the soccer jocks moved to the other side," he says.
Tyler turned to a school administrator for help. But instead of being supportive, the administrator admonished Tyler for disclosing he was gay.
Tyler drops his voice to imitate the administrator.
"Had you not talked about being gay, you wouldn't have been bullied. You can talk about the birds; you can talk about the trees; but you can't talk about being gay," he recalls.
Tyler still remembers his sense of relief when he first visited the West Island LGBTQ Youth Centre in 2014.
"I felt like, 'holy crap! Here's a group where I can actually engage in conversation about how I feel!"
Even at the alternative high school Tyler now attends, he sometimes still gets harassed. In October, another student called him a sinner.
Though the student didn't apologize, when Tyler shared his story with his friends at the centre, they told him they were sorry for what he went through.
It takes Tyler two-and-a-half hours to get from his home in Laval to the LGBTQ Youth Centre.
But he never complains about the long journey, or about having to take the bus, the train and then having to walk several kilometers to get there.
Evenings at the centre begin with circle time. Participants say their names and a few words about their gender identity, sexual orientation and which personal pronoun they prefer to be addressed by.
When it's Tyler's turn, he says, "I'm Tyler, I'm gay and I'm proud of it." When everyone applauds, Tyler adds, "That's why I love this place. You get a sense of support."
When Tyler's phone buzzes, and it's his mom asking what time he'll be home, Tyler suddenly seems 16 again. He tells his mom not to worry, he'll be back by eleven.
Tyler's struggle makes him sensitive to the plight of other LGBTQ youth. He's working on starting up a gay/straight alliance group in Laval, modelled after the one in Beaconsfield.
"I want kids to know there's always hope," he says.
It's not always easy to stay hopeful. Difficult times make some people bitter. But not Tyler.
And not Donna Coleman.
Donna Coleman
Donna's daughter Danielle died in 2012, just a few days before her 31st birthday.
Danielle had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia five months earlier. At the time, Danielle was 20 weeks pregnant with her first child. The baby died seven weeks later.
Shortly after her daughter's diagnosis, one of Donna's friends told her about VOBOC, an organization that supports young people with cancer.
VOBOC delivered a backpack to the Royal Victoria Hospital, where Danielle spent her final months. Inside were pyjamas, socks, a blanket, CDs, and a stuffed lion — the VOBOC mascot for courage.
Donna says she'll never forget Danielle's reaction. "That backpack was like a hug. Someone understands that you need to snuggle under a blanket."
Then, at Christmas, VOBOC delivered a basket. There were chocolates, cookies and more stuffed animals.
Donna calls VOBOC founder Doreen Edward her lifeline. Doreen checked in on Donna regularly, even after Danielle's death. For Donna, that was a real gift. "I was never abandoned," she says.
When Christmas 2012 arrived, Donna knew she wanted to give back.
That Christmas, and every Christmas since, Donna has helped VOBOC prepare Christmas baskets for young people with cancer.
"It brought a little bit of joy to a dark time," Donna says. "If I can help another family get through their dark time, then I just feel like it's worth putting my fragile heart out there."
Despite the loss of her daughter, Donna still finds joy in daily life. Her daughter Danielle loved butterflies. She wore butterfly barrettes and had a butterfly tattoo on her shoulder.
"In warm weather," says Donna, "butterflies come to me."
Some gifts come in baskets or boxes wrapped in gold paper.
But the gift of inspiration can't be purchased at a store or online. It comes from hearing about people like Lourdes and Nasir, Tyler and Donna, and many others, who are part of a community of people looking out for one another.
You can listen to the Sing-In on Christmas Day at 1 p.m. on CBC Radio 2 or at 9 p.m. on CBC Radio One. The Sing-In is also available online here.
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