Christmas Day was coming. I was just a kid then, and my big sister told me there was no Santa Claus. I fled to my Grandma because she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told me the truth. Grandma was home, and I told her everything. “No Santa Claus?” She shouted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. “Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

“Go where, Grandma?” I asked. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. “Take this money, and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people competing to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, holding that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy and who to buy it for. I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker, who was a kid with bad breath and messy hair. He sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out for break during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I chose a red one, which looked really warm, and he would like that.

“Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid ten dollars down. “Yes.”

The nice lady smiled at me, put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap (包裹) the coat in Christmas paper.

Grandma and I waited breathlessly for Bobby Decker’s front door to open.

A mother is a person who, seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.

—Tenneva Jordan

I knew I was not supposed to be quite so excited. I was too old for that. At age eleven, the oldest and my mom's "grown up" girl, I had to keep my cool. I was in middle school after all. But every chance I got, when I was alone, I checked each present under the tree. I read every tag and felt every package, guessing at the contents within. I had examined each gift so often that I could tell which present went to which person without even looking at the tags.

It had been a tough year for my family. Whenever my mom looked over at the tree and scattered（撒）presents, she would sigh and warn us, "There won't be as much for Christmas this year. Try not to be disappointed." Christmas had traditionally been a time for my parents to spoil us. In years past, the presents would pile up and spill out from under the tree, taking over the living room. I had heard the phrase "giving is better than receiving," but thought that whoever had said that must have been out of their mind. Getting presents was the whole point! It was the reason I couldn't get to sleep on Christmas Eve.

On Christmas morning, we eagerly waited in the hallway until Dad told us everything was ready. We rushed into the living room and let the wrapping paper fly. We made weak attempts to wait and watch while other family members opened their presents, but as the time passed we lost our self-control.

"Here's another one for you,” said Mom as she handed me a package. I looked at it, confused. Having spent so much time examining the presents before Christmas, I recognized this one. But it had not been mine. It was my mom's. A new label had been put on it, with my name written in my mother's handwriting.

"Mom, I can't...”

I was stopped by my mother's eager, joyful look.

I have always remembered that Christmas fondly.