As I sit here in The 'Watch Tower' (I call my writing room 'The Watch Tower' after the
sky-top computer room where Batman's daughter The Huntress and Barbara Gordon - who use to
be Batgirl, and The Black Canary watch over Gotham City in the DC comic book 'Birds of
Prey'). Today, reflecting on the past, I smile as I recall a tale of a Christmas so very
long ago...
These days there are a lot of people going through hard times because of the bad economy.
If you or your mate do not have a job, it is even worst. I was thinking just this morning
how bad last year and this year have been to me and my loved ones. I was laid off from two
jobs due to budget cuts and my family has had to give up quite a bit for us to keep afloat.
It's not hard to feel sorry for ones periods of doing without what we have grown accustomed
to. Sure it's hard, but I think a family going through hard times together can create a
stronger bond.
When I was about six-years-old, my mother and father separated. It is not my place to
attach a blame to any one thing that may have destroyed their marriage, but nevertheless, it
happened. My mom moved my two younger sisters and I to a small apartment in the New York
village of East Aurora. A nice enough older home with a large front porch that had about
four small apartments within.
We lived there for almost a year, a very simple existence. Mom worked during the day when we
were attending school, and was always there for us when we came home. East Aurora at that
time was like something out of the novel 'Peyton Place'. One of those comfortable places
where they still held parades on the main street, you could get a draft root beer in a big
frosty mug at the diner, and they had public firework displays in the town square on the big
holidays like the 4th of July and New Years.
I remember that first year of my mom being separated from my dad as being a very sad time.
Kids want their parents to be together, and there is something tragic about the situation
when the things you want don't look like they have a chance of happening. Mom was trying to
do her best as a caregiver, but we had financial restrictions that were very difficult.
Christmas Eve was approaching, and she didn't have the money to buy us any Christmas gifts.
She tried to explain it to my younger sisters, but they cried and it made her feel even
worse. My mother's parents had been sending her money to help a bit with the rent and food,
but none was left for getting a Christmas tree or buying gifts to put under it.
It snowed hard that year, and I recall having that Christmas spirit, and though I knew Santa
was most probably not a real person, I still hoped for some 'magic'. Our apartment was
right across the road from a small shopping center, and sometimes I would sneak over to
browse in the windows of the little department store there.
Some Saturday mornings the costumed hosts of the local childrens TV shows would make
appearances there. I remember a cowboy, a robot and a lady dressed like Jane from the
Tarzan movies. And of course, there was a Santa that would sit in a big chair in front of
the store and listen to the want lists of the neighborhood kids.
I walked over and sat on his lap one Saturday morning and told him how much it would mean to
me for my mom and little sisters to have some nice presents on Christmas day. He listened
attentively and then asked why I had not asked for anything for myself. I answered what had
always been taught to me, "Oh Santa, you know, because Christmas is for giving, not for
receiving...". He smiled and winked at me with those jolly cheeks and a sparking eye and
nodded. I thanked him for listening, and then went on my merry way to look at all the toys
in the five and dime windows.
Back in those days, they really made up the store windows for Christmas, with all types of
decorations and little animated figures and toy electric trains that circled around the
tracks. And I remember this big toy ice skating ring, with a mirrored surface where little
hand-painted skaters danced in circles and Santa stood smiling watching them with his arms
outstretched. And I still smile when I think of that 'magic' store window. Extreme
Christmas at its very best.
I loved my little sisters and have always been quite protective of them. I still am. When
they are upset about anything, it bothers me as well. I wanted to comfort them, but I knew
that making promises that everything would be all right when most probably it wouldn't, would
not be the way to go. I remember praying though. Being a Catholic boy, and attending
Catholic school, I had become accustomed to praying a lot. We had Mass every day at noon,
and I truly believed that if you prayed, God would listen.
So the morning of Christmas Eve, I had a little talk with God in that beautiful little
chapel where I spent a lot of time. I asked him to please take care of my mother and little
sisters, and again let him know that they were the important ones to take care of, and that
I needed nothing.
That evening, mom made us homemade hot cocoa and cookies and we sat in the living room and
watched some television, and just before eight o'clock, when she usually tucked us in to bed
for the night, there was a knock on the door. She called to me from the kitchen where she
was washing some dishes and asked me to answer the door.
I did, and standing there was Santa Claus in all his glory. Not the same Santa I had talked
to a few days before, but definitely Santa. My sisters jumped up and down and giggled as he
came into the room and put a big bag down on the floor and two men in old military uniforms
brought in a Christmas tree and set it up in a corner of the apartment.
Santa put the presents under the tree and I saw my mother standing there with tears in her
eyes, this was an event that even she had not expected. Santa spent some time just sitting
on the floor and talking to us and drank some cocoa and ate some cookies as well. Then after
a nice short visit, he and his uniformed helpers said they had to leave to deliver gifts to
other good boys and girls.
I had no idea who these people really were, but it made me cry that one Christmas Eve, maybe
there was some real 'magic' about Christmas after all? My mother told me years later when I
had grown up that it was some neighbors from a local American Legion hall that had heard
about our situation and wanted us to have a nice Christmas day. We did, and of all the
Christmases I have had since, this one still stands out as the most special.
Christmas is family and friends and hope for the whole world. That is the 'magic'.
Sometimes when things are difficult, it is too easy to forget about all the others who have
it a lot worse than you do. If you can do it, reach out and spread a little bit of
Christmas cheer to others this holiday season. Just a little bit can help so much. To all
a Merry Christmas from my family and the whole staff of The Paper.