A Christmas Memory

I am one of the lucky people who grew up in a wonderful home. My parents always worked hard to make the holidays special for us and gave me many happy Christmas memories. Cookies were baked, trees were trimmed, and presents were wrapped. Santa always came on Christmas Eve while we were asleep and left surprises. But I do remember one year that was different than the rest.

The Christmas that I was about 8 years old was a time when my parents must have been struggling financially. Our family had moved across the country and my father had purchased a new business, so money was tight. My Mom informed my brother and I that this year they did not have money for presents and that we should not expect much. She did not want us to build up hopes and then be disappointed. I understood what she was saying, but it felt so strange to talk about this with my parent. I could not imagine a Christmas without presents.

Christmas morning arrived and my brother and I went out to the Christmas tree with the usual excitement to see what Santa brought us. And indeed, the stockings, our favorite thing of all, were stuffed with tiny toys and candies and the dreaded space-consuming orange in the toe that we always got on Christmas. But one thing was very different than other years, for under the tree there was no pile of presents. There was one package for my brother and one for me. Nothing more.

I opened my box and discovered a little stuffed animal poodle on a plastic leash. I have no idea what I asked Santa for that year, but I know this wasn't it since I never was one who wanted a dog. Yet I can assure you, my heart was filled with love for that little toy poodle. I played with it all day, dragging it by its leash up and down the sidewalk. I eventually wore the fuzz off that dog from all the love and attention I gave it. My brother and I also spent many fun hours racing the little tiny walking Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse that we got in our stockings. The enjoyment I felt with these simple toys that day was so strong I can actually feel it today, many decades later. It is interesting to me that I don't remember any feeling of sorrow at not having more toys.

A few years ago I read a statement that said there are two ways to be rich:

1. You can have what you want. or
2. You can want what you have.

I believe that I was a very rich little girl that Christmas morning, because I learned how to be happy with what I had.