Reader memories: Growing up poor doesn't make a bad Christmas
Dec. 24, 2012 at 6:24 a.m.
Updated Dec. 25, 2012 at 6:25 a.m.
Editor's note: We asked our readers to share their most memorable Christmas with us. Many did. Today is the final installment of your memories.
Growing up poor doesn't make a bad Christmas
My memorable Christmas memories when I was growing up were that we were very poor but very content.
I remember living with grandma. My mom and my sister would bring me one gift, usually a doll.
My sister and I would take turns playing Santa Claus, wrapping each other's gifts - whatever we could find - and acting surprised when we opened them.
I would always get the Christmas tree from school and decorate it with chains made of construction paper and paste.
One year, I was the teacher's pet. I'll never forget Mrs. Roundtree, my third-grade teacher.
One Christmas morning, grandma and I walked to church on a very cold and snowy day. When we got back, the neighbor told us Santa had dropped off gifts for us at her house. We got them and were very excited. There were toys for me, clothes, candy and, yes, something for grandma.
How joyful that was for us. Even though I'm almost 70 years old, I'll never forget these memories.
Lucy Cisneros, Victoria
Christmas with grandpa
My grandfather died before I was born. My mom shared many happy memories of him with me, but during this particular Christmas season, I especially missed never knowing him. I whispered to God every night about how I wished that we could have met and requested that Santa put a picture of my grandfather in my stocking that year. You see, I had never seen his picture before, and at 8 years old, I believed that only Santa Claus might know where to find one. On Christmas morning, I was nervous to wake up and discover what surprises Santa left me. When I reached the living room, I saw, hanging out of my stocking, a black and white picture. I asked my mom if it was my grandfather. She confirmed that it was him and wondered how it got there. I told her of my silent requests every night and how I had asked God and Santa for this simple picture. I still have the photo, and, to this day, I look at this picture and am reminded of the magic of Christmas - and how, at 8 years old, I learned to believe in Santa Claus.
Breanna Plunkett, Victoria