Over the last few years, our family has been invited to celebrate Passover with our neighbors. Although we're Catholic, we were excited at the opportunity to experience something new. In anticipation, my kids researched the Seder to find out what it was and what to expect. The ceremony was interesting and enjoyable, and everyone in our family learned something about the Jewish tradition. Most important, being included in the Seder made us feel a special kinship to our friends that was both intimate and comfortable.

While stationed in Kwang Ju, Korea, my wife attended the celebration of the birth of Buddha. She spent most of the day with Korean friends at a temple of worship and at the ensuing celebration. At the end of the day, my wife was grateful that her friends were thoughtful enough to invite her to the special occasion. She gained a deeper appreciation for a culture that was previously foreign to her. In the process, my wife fostered a closer relationship with her Korean friends.

These are the same feelings that Christians attempt to convey when we wish somebody a "Merry Christmas." The phrase is in no way meant to be exclusive to Christians, nor is it an attempt to proselytize or convert non-believers. For some reason, though, the meaning of the phrase "Merry Christmas" has been terribly skewed. After witnessing the rabid assault on the greeting the last few years, I'm convinced that when wished "Merry Christmas," some people actually hear, "Jesus is the Son of God, and if you don't agree with me, you're horrid and I hate you and I hope you go to hell!" How we got to this point is beyond me, but some people are clearly uncomfortable with being wished a Merry Christmas.

Personally, when I wish somebody a Merry Christmas, I'm saying,

"During this time of year, I feel particularly festive because of the joy I feel while celebrating the birth of my Saviour. It's called the Christmas spirit, and I find that during this season I'm a little more cheerful, I'm a little more patient, I have a little quicker step, I smile and laugh a little bit more, and I'm just a happier person. I would like to share this feeling with you. I do so by wishing you a Merry Christmas."

The wonderful thing about the phrase "Merry Christmas" is that it's for everybody. There are no conditions or prerequisites to being wished a Merry Christmas. You don't have to change your philosophy or beliefs anymore than I had to become Jewish to enjoy a Seder or my wife had to become Buddhist to celebrate Buddha's birthday. You can choose to share in my happiness, or you can reject it. For those who refuse my heartfelt greeting of joy and instead protest and howl that I'm somehow infringing on your First Amendment rights, I have but two words:

A few years ago while treating my kids to their favorite soup-n-salad fare, I noticed an elderly man dining across from us. It was difficult not to notice him because his hat was made of the dazzling red and gold colors of the U.S. Marine Corps. He looked as if he'd come from a convention or reunion, as ribbons, badges, pins and medals adorned his clothing.

I started checking out the marine's decorations while he dined with his wife. There were many badges that I didn't recognize (I spent my military service in the Air Force), but I clearly spotted a POW badge and a Purple Heart.

As we finished our meal and rose to leave, I ushered my kids to the marine's table. I excused myself for interrupting his meal, and I explained that I had noticed his decorations and that I would like my children to meet him. I turned to my kids and told them that there are all types of heroes (I'm sure the usual athletes and entertainers popped into their heads), but the man sitting in front of them was as big of a hero as they could ever hope to meet. He was the type of hero who risked, and would sacrifice, his own life for them and other Americans, most whom he would never meet. I then introduced my children (and myself) and thanked the old marine for his service. He smiled, said hello to my kids, and gave me a polite but humble nod in return.

I was compelled to make this scene because of another man I met when I was stationed at Holloman AFB NM in the late 80s. An Air Force pilot had gotten into a heap of trouble by hot-dogging his aircraft through some nearby canyons. Along the way, he flew through a few high-voltage power lines, disrupting power to much of Southern Arizona. At his court-martial, the pilot retained the services of George "Bud" Day. I pulled bailiff duty for the court-martial, and I was told that Bud Day was representing the defendant. Like most people, I had never heard of Bud Day.

I'm embarrassed to admit that now.

Bud Day is a retired Air Force Colonel and a lawyer. I could not do his biography justice in such a tiny space, but here's the short version.

On August 26th, 1967, Colonel Day's F-100 jet was shot down while he was flying a combat sortie over North Vietnam. He ejected from the aircraft with an injured knee, a blinded eye and an arm broken in three places. He was immediately captured, but soon managed to escape. Over the next two weeks, he painfully trudged through 45 miles of enemy territory. He traveled by night, slept by day, ate frogs and insects for nourishment, and finally came to within one mile of a friendly base. Minutes from the end of his odyssey, he stumbled upon an enemy patrol and was recaptured. During the recapture he was shot twice.

He spent the next six years in a prison camp in Hanoi.

The first few years were spent in solitary confinement peppered with frequent beatings and torture. Eventually, he was placed with a group of prisoners. It was during his group internment that Colonel Day helped organize a Sunday church service. Although warned of its consequences by the prison guards, the service began with the prisoners singing hymns and reciting Bible verses. When the prison guards came to break it up, Colonel Day famously stood on a table and began to sing the national anthem. Soon, prisoners in nearby cells joined in. Then they sang a resounding rendition of "God Bless America."

For his insolent actions, Colonel Day was put back in solitary and the torture began anew. Although it, too, eventually ceased, he remained a POW until his release in 1973.

Colonel Day was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Along the way, he became the most decorated war hero since General Douglas MacArthur.

I can't describe the feelings of awe and respect that welled inside me when I met Colonel Day. As I shook his hand, I was completely speechless. What do you say to a man who sacrificed all that he had in service to you, an unknown American citizen? How do you express your gratefulness and thanks? I could think of no words that wouldn't sound petty when placed next to this man's contribution to his country.

All I could muster was, "I'm very pleased to meet you."

I winced as as soon as I said it, and I wince every time I think of it. But, since meeting Colonel Day, I've developed a deep appreciation for those unheralded heroes that have sacrificed more than we know or could possibly fathom. They tend not to blow their own horns, so you have to keep an open ear and a sharp eye to spot them. When I do, I've resolved to always thank them profusely.

It's the only repayment that I have to give.

I was staying at a hotel last weekend, one that offers a free cook-to-order breakfast each morning. It was self-serve, and you had two lines from which to choose. The first line was for cook-to-order eggs, omelets and waffles. The second line was a buffet of prepared breakfast items, such as scrambled eggs, potatoes, bacon and sausage. As you might expect, the buffet line was much shorter than the cook-to-order line. There were about a dozen people waiting in the first line, but the buffet line was empty.

Anybody who knows me knows that 1) I am notoriously impatient; and, 2) I have a cast-iron stomach. So, naturally I headed for the empty line. Before I could get there, however, a woman stepped out of the first line and up to the empty second line. I was kicking myself for not moving faster when the woman began to explain what she wanted from the server. She wanted two fried eggs. She understood that this wasn’t the “eggs-to-order” line, but she was late and didn’t have time to stand on line to wait for her two fried eggs. If the server could just drop a few eggs on the grill for her, the woman could get her fried eggs and hurry on to whatever she was late for.

No big deal. I waited a few extra minutes while the woman was served her fried eggs from the buffet line. Nobody went hungry, nobody was hurt, and nobody died.

As harmless as this appeared, it is a great example of why communism doesn't work on this planet and never will. Communism is a collective enterprise that operates on the principle that we all contribute into a big pot what we can, and we all draw from the big pot what we need. Although simply put, it’s the bottom line.

And therein lies the rub… what we think we need might not be what somebody else thinks we need. Even in small doses, the ego is a powerful drug. It can warp a person’s subjective thoughts into irrational acts. In my example above, the woman could have had any number of breakfast items without waiting. She could have had scrambled eggs, hard-boiled eggs, muffins, bagels with cream cheese, oatmeal, several cold cereals with milk, pancakes, or a variety of fresh fruits without delaying her meal. However, she wanted fried eggs, and she didn’t want to wait her turn to get them. So, she rationalized that her immediate need for fried eggs was greater than everybody else’s in line, and she gamed the system to get what she “needed.”

Instead of a breakfast line at a mid-priced American hotel, what if this scene was a line of people standing in the cold awaiting their daily allotment of food for their family. Or how about a line of people at a hospital waiting for various medical procedures ranging from appendectomies to cosmetic plastic surgery. You can analyze any scene where needs outweigh available resources, and the human ego will ensure that the collective distribution of resources will be patently unfair.

Of course, the hungriest should get the food first and the people suffering the most should get medical care first. Those with the most need should draw from the pot first. That’s just plain rational.

Unfortunately, the rationality of needs, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.