A Family of Our Own
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[1 Comment]Will Christmas really be all right? I wondered as I knocked on the battered door.
A disheveled young woman answered my knock. "Thank the Lord you came back. I was afraid you wouldn't." Over her shoulder she called, "I told you kids Santa wouldn't forget ya."
As my son, David, and I stepped into the dismal clutter, seven shabby children lined up in front of a ragged couch. Hands clasped, rigid as if they faced a firing squad, they watched the floor.
My heart ached for them, especially when the dark-eyed nine-year-old whispered, "Ma, there ain't such a thing as Santa Claus." He was too young to have grown beyond pretending.
We'd met him when we came to investigate the family's urgent needs; a day that had been a turning point in David's life. Now I prayed that tonight might be a turning point for the boy.
"Chris," I said gently. "Santa lives in the spirit of giving, a symbol of the gifts the Magi brought when Christ was born. If he doesn't exist, where did we get a bike with your name on it?"
Chris ducked his head to hide the smile he couldn't control. I knew he wanted to believe.
"My son will be bringing in your gifts, children," I said. "Maybe you'd like to help him?"
Ramrod stiff, eyes wary, they stood their ground.
David's smile was wonderful as he tried to put them at ease. "Nah," he said. "You guys stay in where it's warm. I'll get the stuff."
A month ago it had taken threats to get David inside this rundown house in the slums. Now he hurried to the car to bring Christmas to the children. His rich new baritone glorified the snowy night as he sang, "Joy to the World." This was the same boy who had hated me for most of the past year.
"It's Your Fault"
As we waited for David to bring in the gifts, that year crowded into my mind.
Last Christmas had been a nightmare for him. His father had stormed into the house, full of liquor, to inform me that he had a new love. The slamming door as Jerry left us brought David downstairs to his first awareness that his parents' marriage had failed. Wild-eyed and confused, he screeched, "What was all that about?"
I didn't know how to tell him. So I simply said, "Your dad has left us, David."
"What do you mean?"
"He's asked for a divorce," I told him. "He's not coming back. I'm sorry, Honey. But you and I will be just fine. I have a good job; I can take care of us."
"Dad wouldn't walk out on me this way," he said. "Who cares about your dumb job? What about Dad?"
"There's someone else in his life now, Son."
His life shattered, his usually twinkling blue eyes flooded with hate, David growled, "Whatever's wrong is your fault."
Some Brave Words
My punishment began that night. David hated Christmas, his gifts, the world, and everything I said or did. As winter passed, his grades nose-dived. His father never called. And David couldn't stop blaming me for everything that was wrong with his life. Spring and summer passed as we sparred, and David withdrew into himself.
Related Topics:
Blessings, Challenges, Parenting, Christmas, Getting Involved, Gifts, Serving
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ruby
It made me cry.So touching!What a wonderful idea!
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