Christmas

Christmas, when I was about 10 or 11, all I wanted in the entire world was a Pound Puppy. I mean, badly. I wrote Santa, and I begged and begged. Well, my mom was a single mom, working at K-Mart and she couldn't afford much.

Christmas morning, I woke up, ran downstairs, and all I cared about in the world was finding my Pound Puppy. Instead, in a little brown basket was a little stuffed brown puppy dog. A note was attached that said something like, "My name is Brownie. I know you hoped for a Pound Puppy, but when your mom saw me at the store all alone, she knew I needed a good home and a little girl that would take good care of me."

Well, I'd like to say I was happy... but I threw a fit. Man, I was a total brat. I cried and cried. Late that night, I heard my mom crying. At the time, I didn't understand the depth of emotion that dragged those tears from my mom... maybe I never will until I experience something similar with my son, but I think I have a better understanding now.

Years later, my first year of college, I wrote an article for the school paper about that Christmas, and the little ways we break the hearts of those around us without maybe realizing the damage we're doing. I love that puppy. I still have him. My son has adopted him.

My mom did the best she could with what she had. It's all any of us can do - every day, not just during the holidays. I'm staying here with my mom over Christmas, rather than going up north, because that's the circle of life. That's the way it should be. It's not the name on the gift that matters, it's the swelling, love-filled heart behind the giving that means a damn. I'll hug her a little tighter, brush her hair a little gentler, because she's my gift... she's my gift.

xoxo