Many years ago, in about 1990, I wrote the article below to our local newspaper in the hope that it would increase people's social conscience for donations at Christmas time. It was printed up as a full page spread on the 2nd page of the paper and it played, (I hope), a small part in substantially increasing donations received by the Community shelters, Salvation Army and Battered Womens' Shelters... I was very proud of it... And so I hope you will enjoy it and give thought to the "giving" that means so much to so many...
1963 Christmas
Years ago, across a crowded dance floor, a lovely brunette looked up to see a handsome, dark-haired army soldier coming toward her to ask her to dance. With a case of beer tucked under his arm, they perched on a log at the side of the river to talk about "where we've beens" until the sun came up. As they tucked back a few foamies, he told her of his mother's abandonment of him when he was a small baby, his lifelong loneliness, his distrust of women... and as the sun rose, she promised him she would never leave him...
In 1963, some 13 years later, she found herself in a drafty, old barn of a house, square in the middle of one of the coldest cities in Canada. With 4 children in her care and no husband around for months, the years were lean on her cashier's wages. She shivered in a thin, cloth coat passed down from her sisters as she waited for the bus those freezing mornings. Her children faced the city alone each day until she returned... within that big, drafty, old farmhouse... That woman was my mother.
Long before we'd been unceremoniously dumped by my father in that old barn of a house, I'd decided that something was seriously amiss in our home. We weren't like the other kids I met at school. Our mother was alone and she worked for a living... Our father didn't come home at 5 o'clock every afternoon...
In my 7 year old thoughts, I had already decided that life wasn't fair. First, it had taken my father with his addictions to the fast life and then, because my father was gone, my mother had to go too in order to support us. Something just didn't seem right in those hungry days of my youth.
And so it was that, on Christmas evening of 1963, in minus 40 weather with snow up to her calves, my mother turned into our front yard. At the top of the stairs ahead of her, there sat a bouquet of roses and a card that said, "so sorry.. hope you'll forgive"...unsigned. She sat down to cry... knowing that she was about to have to tell her children that there was not going to be a Christmas that year... knowing that despite her best attempts to save money, her meager salary had refused to part with any kind of savings toward Christmas toys... and knowing that, it was because of her keeping her promise to him, that she was having to suffer these problems without his help...
We had cleaned the house til it sparkled while waiting for her to come home that evening. The lil Charlie Brown tree, twinkled in the corner as we waited in our pyjamas long after we had heard the first porch door close. When we could stand the suspense no further, we opened the door and there she stood, her soft brown eyes filled with tears... the note clutched in her hand...
I was frozen in shock to see her in such distress. I loved my mommy with all of my heart... she was our rock... for her to fall apart, would ensure our collapse... We ushered her into the house, took her coat and served her supper.. but she wasn't really there.. her eyes filled with pain at thoughts of him...
After dinner, she remained at the table and with a big sigh, told us she had some bad news for us... There would be no Christmas this year and she had word that Santa had lost our address since we moved so much. The news rocked our world. First, we'd lost our Dad.. then our Mom.. and now.. Santa!!! "How could this be?", I wondered. What had we done to deserve to lose so much? A tear trickled down my mother's cheek...And then, the doorbell rang... It echoed through that barn of a house...
My mother's color drained from her cheeks as she went to answer the door. As she opened it, the lovely carolling of the sorority sisters from the local University filled our silence with Christmas. At the head of the crowd, sat two big boxes of food, candy and toys for our family.. arranged by our young neighbor lady down the street. As they heaved them into the house, my mother stood, looking stricken, her eyes as round as saucers from the shock of their unexpected kindness. She was finally able to sputter a thank you and give the front woman a hug but as the door closed behind them, her look of dismay never altered.
Life had been so very hard... And she had felt so alone, estranged from her family of origin and moving around so much that making friends had been impossible for her as well as us... No one knew that we had lived in train cabooses and rat-infested shacks... No one knew that she had stolen coal from behind the church to heat our homes... No one knew how long the nights had been of wondering how she was to raise 4 children on a mere cashier's wages... To have this sudden bounty emerge from the tenderness of strangers was more than her mind could logically wrap itself around.
She hadn't even spoke when the doorbell rang again. As she opened it, she was met by a team of big, burly firemen... bearing yet another box of toys for us. But my eyes were on my mother.. I was watching her expressions closely, wondering when she would break...
And sure enough, my mother burst into tears. The fireman closest to her, put his arms around her and held her close to his chest until her sobs subsided. And I blessed him with my eyes tightly squinted to hold back my own tears. When she was calm, he let her go and wishing us well, they turned and left.
For the first time that evening, when my mother turned to face us, she had a softened smile on her lips...
I loved my tiny, partially-bald dolly that I unwrapped the next morning with all my heart. But my BEST Christmas gift that year, was then and will always be, that soft smile my mother had worn the night before... The fear I'd had for her falling apart immediately vanished and I knew that she now had hope... that the sorority sisters and firemen had given her something far more precious than any material gift.. They had given her the knowledge that she was not alone, that even strangers care and that we had not, in fact, lost Santa.
Years later, many Christmases have passed since that cold winter of 1963 but there has never been a time when I have passed the Salvation Army bucket without also blessing the man or woman standing beside it... And I wonder if they know that somewhere, a child found Santa in the caring of strangers... May God always bless those of you who put smiles on the faces of sad mommies!
Written by Silken
December, 1990
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