Christmas of 99

Thank you for the photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash

Our life had been difficult during that year,
A destitute Christmas was growing quite clear.
As a single young mother of active small boys,
And money so scarce, how would Santa bring toys?

One Saturday morning well before dawn,
I prepared for my mission; the coffee turned on.
The ‘Timbit’ hockey in town was at six.
Prepping three boys would take talent and tricks.

In a mother’s young life, she learns skills to get along,
And creative new schemes from excursions gone wrong.
From saddened young faces, she’s learned from before.
To keep quiet ‘bout outings ’til thru the front door.

After their hockey, awaited a special surprise,
My excitement was bubbling, too much to disguise.
That morning I broke my own rules….not wise.
‘Wake up, boys, get dressed! It’s time to rise!

Still their motionless bodies…my devilish cheer.
I crept to their beds and moved close to their ear.
I whispered, “Today is the Santa parade!”
And braced for the bounce from the beds where they’d laid.

I dreamt of their hugs upon hearing this news.
I anticipated kisses or even some schmooze.
They magically awoke, and excited, I knew.
When they launched from their bunks and right past me, they flew.

“Please dress in your hockey gear before we can go.
And bundle up warm as there’s been a big snow.”
I’d help the boys first to minimize strife,
Before waking my toddler, who’s LOADED with life.

On second thought….

This morning’s endeavours might be an effortless jaunt,
I smile to myself cause I know what they want!
Should I or shouldn’t I, it’s mean I confess,
They’ll do anything for Santa; their room is a mess.

In the midst of my musing, a commotion broke out,
I dashed to discern what the noise was about.
Disputing whose hockey shirt each one would use,
I swig back my coffee to smother my fuse.

“Oh, honestly, boys? They’re the same in their size.
But the damage is done, and their young brother cries.
That triggered ‘threat one’; “do you want to go today?
We can go back to bed; I am happy to stay!”

At last, in the car, a big day lay ahead,
My thoughts wandered back to my cozy warm bed.
The three boys buckled up, with breakfast to go,
More snow than I thought; The drive would be slow.

One child then giggled…. “I’ve forgotten my jock”,
Drive on or turn back? I glanced at the clock.
Does it hurt all that much to be hit with a puck?
Do I risk future grandkids? Or wager good luck?

I faked my best calm; and spun a ‘one-eighty’ trick.
“Last call for your things—skates, helmet, or stick!”

In the changing room finally, I tied up their skates,
“When you’re finished your practice, Santa Claus waits.
So come off the ice just as fast as you can,
Arriving early for a good spot is the game plan.

Are you listening? We must go quick like a bunny,
Free parking is crucial; we haven’t much money”.

To the city, we hustled, on gas fumes and a prayer,
And found a good parking spot, just one to spare!
I unloaded my toddler, my excitement was growing
It was beautiful outside and perfect, t’was snowing!

The older two boys joined us. I stared. I might barf.
“Where are your coats, hats, mittens, and scarf!?”
Two sheepish slight grins gave me cause for concern,
Their warm clothes were at home, and no time to return.

How could I have not noticed this earlier today?
Wide eyes were upon me. “Please, Momma, let us stay.
Please, Santa is coming, we wrote him these letters,
We’re not that cold, Momma….in our hockey warm sweaters”!

They remembered their letters, but NOT their snow coats”!
I chose not to see those thin, shivering notes.
We travelled along Main Street, starting to crowd.
My boys will have fun, I secretly vowed.

The boys skipped in front, heading down a few blocks.
I saw neither child was wearing their socks!
The boys zinged through the crowd for ‘the’ spectator spot.
I couldn’t help but grin at the gusto they brought.

They secured the best seating, awaiting the first float,
I took a deep breath and peeled off my long coat.
I bundled the boys with my warm black apparel,
And hummed with the crowd a Christmas-time carol.

I picked up my toddler…snuggled in his snowsuit.
He squirmed to get down to retrieve his lost boot.

Oh, don’t leave, keep me warm….I secretly pouted.
He sat with his brothers; returning was doubted.
The parade hadn’t started… the cold was unbearable.
What will I do? This is going to be terrible.

Soon, I am weighing the cons and the pros.
Do I bargain for home? My red fingers now froze.
Sure, there’d be tears… we’d watch the parade on TV…
For no one loves Santa more than my three boys and me.

Just to make sure, I asked, “Everybody warm”?
I looked to the sky, and here comes the snowstorm.
Do you want to go home? “NO!” they say altogether.
Totally oblivious to the oncoming weather.

My thoughts drift and swirl. Hypothermia? Frostbite?
How will I know? Will my body turn white?
I wonder what happens when one freezes to death,
I wonder… is here where I’ll take my last breath?
Will I drop to the ground? Will I faint or fade out?
Hmm, there’s a thought. It’d be warmer, no doubt!

My pants were snow-soaked; my blouse was near frozen.
What a blustery cold day that dear Santa had chosen.
One tactic remained…. to ‘-‘will’ the parade.
Please, Santa, come quickly, I silently prayed.

Then, a bump to my shoulder… she said, “Excuse me.”
I assume she was moving in closer to see,
I shimmied on over. She gave me a smile,
“For you,” said the woman, he might be a while.”

I look down to see what the lady has offered.
An end to the cold and the numbness I’ve suffered.
She passed me a blanket, for each of us… a hot drink.
I can’t hold my tears; she’s an angel, I think.

As the quilt warmed my shoulders, enveloped in shock,
I tried to explain but was too cold to talk.
There wasn’t a happier, warm mother that day,
I was grateful; her kindness had allowed us to stay.

My eldest son squealed…with a hot chocolate-trimmed face,
Momma!
“The parade’s coming! This is a magical place!”
Yes, magical, it’s true, I feel peaceful inside,
I’m happy we’re here to begin this Yuletide.

I had everything I wanted on that bustling street.
The joy of knowing the beautiful people we meet.
I returned her warm blanket; once Santa Claus came,
And thanked the nice lady, a saint with no name.

Did she know how her kindness transformed me that morn?
I was no longer impoverished, weary and worn.
Still the same troubles, without the full weight,
A new year approaching…it was sure to be great.

I had dwelled on the things I could not give to my boys,
Like world travel experiences, parties, and toys.
A two-parent whole family, a white picket fence,
And fewer hard struggles that life would dispense.

Now, there’s no regret for the tough times we knew,
For this Christmas time, memory adorned a new view.
I think of our angel, her generous goodwill.
And two decades later… I remember her still.