Expressway: Here we come a-caroling . . .

The other day I was watching a Christmas episode of "Glee" and recalled the time I went caroling with my friends about a week before Christmas.

It was 1965. We were ninth-graders and members of the Deer Park High School chorus. Little did we all know how heartwarming and gratifying the experience would be.

The idea to go street caroling flashed into my head like the light from Rudolph's nose while I was eating lunch one day with other members of the chorus. We would often sing together, and on this day, we were rehearsing Christmas carols for the winter concert that was less than a week away

"Hey, why don't we go caroling before Christmas?" I asked the others. At first, my friends looked at me like reindeer caught in headlights.

"It doesn't sound like a bad idea," Diane remarked.

"Maybe we could raise money for charity," Laura added.

The boys at the table didn't seem impressed.

Carols were first sung in Europe thousands of years ago. Originally, they were pagan songs for the winter solstice. People would dance around stone circles singing joyously.

I was having a hard enough time getting some of the others to participate, and decided it would not be prudent to ask them to dance in circles. But, after a little cajoling, we agreed to make our street debut on Saturday night. We decided to meet in the high school parking lot at 5 o'clock.

To my surprise, everyone arrived on schedule. Diane brought her flute. Eugene brought his trumpet. I wore a ski hat that covered my face with the exception of my eyes, nose and mouth.

"You look more like a cat burglar than one of Santa's elves," Bruce remarked with disapproval.

I decided to take off the hat and brave the cold rather than frighten anyone.

The first house we visited had more Christmas lights on it than Rockefeller Center. As we began "Deck the Halls," the owner and his wife opened the door and smiled at us. Once we were finished, they thanked us and put a dollar in Laura's UNICEF box. We were off to a good start. We sang for at least a dozen more families, and actually collected $10 for charity, and after two hours we could hardly move our mouths anymore from the cold. But we decided to sing for one more person.

Mrs. Smith was my neighbor. At that time, she rarely left her house. But when I first moved to Deer Park, she would often come out on a hot summer day and give us lemonade while we played Wiffle ball in the road.

Mrs. Smith must have heard us singing next door because she turned on the front light as we approached. She recognized me, and before we knew it, we were all inside the house drinking hot chocolate and singing our hearts out. One song after another, tears of joy flowed down her cheeks. I even thought I heard her try to sing along.

Not too long after, Mrs. Smith passed on. We never went caroling again, but would reminisce in later years how, on a cold winter's night, we brought the warmth of the holiday spirit into the home of a very special person who, for as long as I could remember, always had a kind word and a big smile whenever she saw me.

Reader Lou DeCaro lives in Wading River.