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I remember that when I was fourteen my mother had sat down with me and told me that she would not
have enough money to buy presents for both myself and my brothers and sister. My mother told me I would
have a "Russian Christmas" just as soon as her check came in after New Years. My mother is all Irish and my
father was German and Polish so I never understood where the term "Russian Christmas" came from. What I did know was being he oldest child in a single parent home meant pitching in to help out. Everyone had sacrifices to make. It was just how life was. It was no big deal.
I remember that early on Christmas morning I went over to a friend's house so things would be easier on my mother. My best friend was a year old than I was. He was also the only child living at his house with both a mother and
father( translation: lots of cool loot to check out). At one point, my friend asked, "What did you get?" I did not want to embarrass my family for being poor so I
said, "Stuff, you know". I immediately felt like some ungrateful little brat. But what could I say? Somehow the truth did
not seem appropriate at the time.
Unbeknownst to me, my mother had gone to a neighbors and called my best friend's father to
tell him I was heading over. She told him our situation. My friend's father took me aside at one point and told
me that he had heard that I had taken the money I had made from loading groceries into peoples' cars at the Acme
and for shoveling snow from neighbors sidewalks and given it to my mother to help with the Christmas presents
for my brothers and sisters. He said he understood that there wasn't enough to go around and heard I had
volunteered to wait until after the first of the year to celebrate my Christmas.
My best friend's father then gave me the best Christmas present I ever received. He told me my actions showed I was maturing, that I was becoming a man. As I recall, my "Russian Christmas" never came. There were bills to be paid and our tree traditionally came
down on the first of January each year. As the smell of the pine faded from the house, so did my faith that I would see my "Russian Christmas". What never faded was the feeling I got from being mature enough to participate in the Spirit of Christmas. It is truly one of my best memories.
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