In the true spirit of recession, I will buy only "necessary gifts" this Christmas season. I will give gifts only to my husband, children, grandchildren and in-laws.

Today, however, I sent a Christmas gift to my favorite aunt, Minnie. Of all my beloved maternal aunts, (eight in all) Aunt Minnie is my favorite.

Aunt Minnie always seemed to smile. She had a soft touch in a time when folks were raised hard. When I was young she always found time to encourage and advise me. And when I, as a middle child in a brood of 10, felt left out or overlooked, she took the time to make me feel special.

After I became a woman and a wife, Aunt Minnie continued to love and listen. I found that I could talk to her about marriage and about life. She shared her years and wisdom freely in a way that was never judgmental. She seemed to know just what to say to make things right.

Once or twice we have rubbed each other the wrong way. There were tears, apologies, explanations and forgiveness, then back to the comfort of our closeness.

My children adore Aunt Minnie. She loved them as an extension of me, as she had loved me for the sake of my mother. She is easy for the new generation to talk to, and she has been as loving and giving to them as she has always been to me.

My husband thinks Aunt Minnie hung the moon, because she makes chitlins for him when he goes to visit.

As a child, at Christmas time, my mother’s face would often become lined with worry over how to provide for her 10 children. My mother was, herself, part of a very large family, and many of her siblings were educated and working at jobs in the North, and they would send money to my mother to help her and my father provide Christmas for us.

So each year, shortly after Thanksgiving, the parade of Christmas cards came. Along with a few dollars, pinched off from her brothers and sisters who dearly loved her and who loved us as an extension of that love.

Sometimes boxes would arrive with the admonition: "DO NOT OPEN UNTIL CHRISTMAS." We would almost burst with curiosity and excitement as we obediently waited for Christmas to arrive.

Then, finally, Christmas day dawned. Oh, the jackets! The food!! The sweaters. Always something our family needed.

Our parents celebrate Christmas in heaven these last few years, and I miss them. As I shopped for a gift for Aunt Minnie, my eyes filled with tears remembering the times I shopped for my mother’s Christmas gift. And for a moment it felt like a betrayal of the memories of my mother. Then a soft voice whispered, "It’s ok. Your love for Aunt Minnie is an extension of your love for your mother."

And love is passed down -- generation to generation.

So, Aunt Minnie, in a few days you will receive a package from me with the warning, "Do not open ‘til Christmas."

I hope you like it. I hope it reminds you of your sister and of the snaggle-toothed, dirty-faced children you have loved all these years.

D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County and now lives with her husband in Orange Park, Fla.

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