I played Santa today. With a dozen Windermere colleagues, we loaded up the vans and trooped south to deliver Christmas gifts to our fourth-graders at Oasis Elementary. Although only 23 miles south of our La Quinta office, Thermal is a world apart from its ritzy, country-club neighbor. Date-palm orchards, produce fields and forlorn businesses bracket the two-lane road. The snow-tinged Santa Rosa Mountains follow us southward, reminding me that this is still part of our beautiful Coachella Valley.
Oasis now has a brand new school this year—thanks to the tenacity of its spirited principal, Elizabeth Ramirez—but that doesn't alter the fact that the students are primarily the children of migrant workers and endure the concomitant obstacles—poverty, lack of stability, illiteracy. The median household income in the area is only $24,000.
We adopted three fourth-grade classes—the multi-class roster a sign of our exploding Coachella Valley—three years ago, visiting the students several times a year to oversee crafts, dispense small gifts, and bond with the children.My colleague, Mary Pat Anderson, single-handedly spearheaded the program among her fellow Realtors and has tirelessly championed the effort to keep interest alive. Weekly staff-meeting fundraisers and donations form the funds from which the goodies flow.
Earlier this week we wrapped 75 gifts for the kids and today marked our third holiday trek to personally hand out the presents. For too many of the children, these will be the only gifts they receive this Christmas season.
I am always struck by how polite and well mannered the students are when we visit. According to Vice Principal Richard Timentel, a personable, articulate young man, inculcating teacher respect is the number-one goal. Timentel—himself a migrant worker’s son who attended the original Oasis grammar school—is a bona fide success story, matriculating at Notre Dame before returning to run his childhood school. I smile when we cross the expansive campus and hear a student solemnly address me, “Hello teacher.”
Today the children in Jessica Mendoza’s class can barely contain themselves when they see the boxes of presents.
Linda Williams reads an Italian Christmas story to a rapt audience and the gift-giving commences. Each child receives a shoebox stuffed with gifts—Barbies for the girls, Matchbox cars for the boys—as well as a soccer ball emblazoned with their name.
Mary Pat has them pledge not to remove the balls from their cartons until they leave the classroom. They grin and comply.
This year one of my colleagues, Mary Beth Younquist—yes, there is a surfeit of Marys in our office—solicited hotel toiletries from Fantasy Springs Casino and each child is given a hefty bag of nice soaps and shampoos to bring home. The items go over big.
“What's this for?” a youngster asks me while inspecting a mini sewing kit. I explain the concept to a quizzical face.
The gifts are oh-so-carefully unwrapped, examined and displayed to classmates. Rosa Mendez—sporting a huge orange flower in her hair—opens her package and I notice a colorful Beanie Baby dragon tucked inside. “Oh, you got the dragon. I wrapped your present and liked that animal the best!” I exclaim enthusiastically. She immediately turns and proffers the stuffed toy. My heart leaps at her instinctive generosity. “Oh, no, sweetheart. That’s for you.”
As in previous years, many of the children do not open their gifts in class. I’ve had children tell me that they were going to give the presents to their mothers and fathers.
Here’s Regina Rodriquez, solemnly clutching her gifts and quietly watching the mayhem around her. 
Homemade cookies are doled out and then it’s time to depart. Other than a few errant soccer balls—which will be delivered tomorrow—the day has gone smoothly thanks to Mary Pat’s formidable managerial talents. Until you’re up close and personal with planning, wrapping and delivering 150 personalized gifts, you remain clueless about the involved logistics.
Before we depart, Mrs. Mendoza has her class sing us Mele Kalikimaka, the 50th state’s Christmas song. We find ourselves doing the hula along with the students’ rousing, arm-waving rendition.
"Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say
On a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day
That's the island greeting that we send to you
From the land where palm trees sway
Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright
The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night
Mele Kalikimaka is Hawaii's way
To say "Merry Christmas to you."
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