LETTER: My first Christmas
To the Editor:
My sister and brother were older. Mom said I was a surprise package. Our father died in 1930. In 1932, we moved to the city. Our young uncle moved with us to look for a job. Everyone worked two jobs. For those who worked, mom mended, washed and ironed their shirts for 25 cents each.
It was December, cold and snow. Everyone at school was talking about Christmas and Santa. Santa never came to my house. I came home from school. In the living room in front of the windows was our old bench with three bowls on top. One had tangerines, one had mixed nuts and one had Christmas candy from Woolworth’s.
I told mom Santa had come. Mom said, “No.” Christmas was next week. It was Christmas Eve. I went to bed; the fragrance of mom’s pumpkin pies baking filled the house.
Christmas morning, I went into the living room. There was a real Christmas tree decorated with bright colored lights and silver icicles.
Under the tree was a coloring book and box of crayons that Santa had left just for me. I was 6 years old. My first Christmas.
Merry Christmas to all.