The Gift of Giving

Originally published November 1, 2010.

I had the best day I’ve had in a very long time.  I thought I was doing something for children and it turned out to be something for me.

When I was a little girl my mother had trouble affording the necessities, let alone Christmas presents.  One Christmas I remember the neighbors helping to buy my three sisters and I a couple presents each.  All of those neighbors worked hard to support their own families so I’m sure it wasn’t easy to help another family, but they did it and I will never forget what they did that Christmas. 

For twenty years my family have been buying toys for needy families, sometimes placing the toys in the “big box” at the store and sometimes we delivered the toys directly to the families.  I have always felt great joy in doing this simple thing, but this year I felt elated—not because I was giving, but because I was receiving—what exactly, I’m not sure. 

My mother used to tell me that when you let someone help you, you are giving him or her a gift—”the gift of giving.”

Thank you Betty Remy, Margaret Day, Nita Pruitt and Lois Loveless for making that Christmas, so many years ago, a lasting and wonderful memory.

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What Santa Thinks after Eight Hours In The Mall

I re-post this every year.

What Santa Thinks after Eight Hours In The Mall

Wipe you snotty nose.

You stink; get your mommy to change your diaper.

If you pull my beard, I’m going to pull your hair.

You’ve been such a naughty kid don’t expect anything for Christmas.

Do you really believe there’s a Santa Claus?

Yeah, I want to hold another screaming or crying kid.

What do I have a sign on me?—Barf on me today!

Keep that sucker in your mouth and don’t touch Santa with sticky hands.

Santa doesn’t want cookies and milk; he wants a ham sandwich and a beer. 

Kid you’ve been eating too many sweets.

Take you finger out of your nose. 

No, I don’t want some of your slobbery sucker.

I hope that’s pumpkin on your outfit.

Don’t sneeze!  Don’t sneeze!  Oh, crap!

Why couldn’t I be Mrs. Claus instead of Santa.

Scrooge is beginning to make sense.

When is Christmas over?

Now I know what my wife had to put up with.

Kid, I feel like crying, too.

Quite complaining, at least you have diapers; I just have to hold it.




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