This story is true. At least to the best of my memory it’s true though I was pretty young when this happened and a lot of my memories from that time have pretty much faded. This particular memory has stayed in my mind though probably because it was so strange. To this day I’m not 100% sure if it was real or not. I like to think so though. I’d rather it be real then just something created by my adolescent imagination. Thinking that it really happened, well, it gives me hope for this world and gives me something to believe in.
It was Christmas morning in 2010. I was just 12 years old then, just one year before I met the man that I would eventually discover was my father. Back then I lived with my mom and a man that I had believed to be my biological father. I was the oldest of three kids. My two younger siblings were identical twin girls, barely two years old, and from what I can remember, they were adorable and so sweet. I haven't seen them since the events that had eventually ripped my family apart, but I heard that they were placed in foster care and are now with a really good family that loves them.
I try not to really think too much about those days, they weren’t good and I don’t have many happy memories of that time. My mothers husband, who I will refer to as “the man”, had lost his job a few years before. Eventually their savings ran out, they lost their house and we were forced to move in with my grandparents. Things there were short lived. My grandparents never liked the man and they fought constantly. The man drank a lot and was always angry. His drinking led to him being abusive to not only me and my sisters but to my mom as well. Mom started drinking and eventually started doing drugs and her parents got sick of all the fighting and the drinking and kicked us out.
My sisters and I were dragged around to different places. We’d stay with friends of my mother’s for a few days to a week and then have to leave and go someplace else. The man refused to look for more work and my mom was only getting part time hours at her job which she eventually lost too. They had some money coming in once in a while but I have no idea where the money was coming from. My mom had worked cleaning houses for a while and I suspected that she might have been stealing and then selling things, that may have even been why she lost her job, I really don’t know.
All I can really say is that things went from bad, to worse, to horrible. I can remember about 2 weeks that we lived in a car. That was probably the most uncomfortable time that I could remember. I was sandwiched between the two younger kids in the back seat floor of a pretty small car. My mother slept on the seat while the man slept in the front. At least it was summer so it wasn’t cold but on the really hot nights I would lay there, covered in sweat, way too uncomfortable to actually sleep. The little kids were be left in rank diapers so the car was filled with the smell of urine and shit, with me wedged in the middle of it.
By the time school had started again we were living in a tent that the man had put up in the back yard of his buddies place. This set up wasn’t all that bad compared to the last few places we’d been. We were actually able to go inside and take showers. Running water was something I think too many people take for granted. I was so relieved to finally stand under that shower, let the hot water run over me, and wash off the stress of the previous months. The down side to this arrangement was the fact that the man’s buddy was into some pretty shady stuff. Different people were always coming and going at all hours. The man and my mother would spend countless hours in the buddies house drinking and shooting up, then pass out and sleep half the day away.
I wasn’t sure what all went on inside that house. I tried to limit my exposure to just using the bathroom or kitchen when I absolutely had to. I learned the hard way that we were not welcome to any of the food in the house. I had gone in once to tell my mom that we (the kids) were hungry, but found her passed out on the living room floor so I took it upon myself to make a few peanut butter sandwiches for myself and my sisters. I grabbed a couple of sodas for us too and started to go back out to our tent when I was caught by the mans buddy and accused of stealing food. I tried to explain to him that we were hungry and had no food in the tent but he was less than sympathetic. He knocked me across the room and kicked me. The man who was supposed to be my father came into the room and I expected him to come to my rescue but he didn’t. Instead he yelled at me and told me to get the fuck out of the house and not to come back in without permission.
I ran back out to the tent and cowered there for a few hours before my mom came in, threw a pack of saltines at me, and then scolded me for almost getting us kicked out of what she called, the best set up we’ve had so far. That’s when I learned that I was pretty much on my own and had to fend for myself. It wasn’t so bad I suppose. Going to school was a blessing for me, though I hated leaving my sisters alone for so long, I had no idea when I came back if they would even still be alive given the situation we were in. Looking back now I wish that I had told someone at school what was going on but I guess I was too scared. What if they didn’t believe me? If they sent someone to investigate and they didn’t get us out of there then I’d have been beat nearly to death for causing trouble. Plus, there was a part of me that really didn’t want to get my mom in trouble.
When I was in school though I was lucky enough to get free lunches. I’d eat about half of my lunch then put the rest in plastic baggies, hide them in my book bag, and take them back to my sisters so they would get something to eat, even if it wasn’t a lot. Eventually I started stealing food from the cafeteria until I was caught. Then I started taking things from a small gas station on the way home. I didn’t take a lot, just a few packs of chips or crackers, anything that I could stuff in my pockets. After a few times of doing this and not buying anything the clerk became suspicious and banned me from coming back unless I was actually going to purchase something. I wasn’t proud of myself but I did what I had to do, or what I thought I had to do at the time.
When Christmas finally came around that year I had no expectations. Mom and the man had been partying the night before so I knew that there was little chance of us getting anything to eat the following morning. We had no tree in our little tent, no stocking full of sweets and no gifts. I wasn’t naive enough to believe that Santa still existed, so it wasn’t any shock to me that we woke up to nothing but an ice cold tent, and a yard full of fresh fallen snow. I actually considered it a special occasion just to get an extra blanket to throw over our sleeping bags. For the most part though, it was just another day for us.
I woke up early to the sounds of my sisters crying. They were wet and hungry and we had no diapers and no food. I really didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t about to go into the house and risk getting the shit beat out of me, but I knew that I had to do something. I bundled the girls up in their in their snow suits and did my best to keep them quiet as I sneaked them out of the tent and out of the back yard. It wasn’t really that hard to leave. Anyone who wasn’t sleeping off the previous night really didn’t care what we did. They probably would have been happy if we’d never come back. Three less burdens to have to worry about.
I wasn’t really sure where we were going to go or what we were going to do. At this point I just wanted to get the girls someplace warm. I figured I could probably try and get some people to give me a dollar or two and I could get us something to eat but I didn’t really know who would be out and about on Christmas morning. The first place we went to was a gas station up the street from the buddy’s house. We hung out inside for maybe five minutes before the clerk started asking me where our parents were, are we alone, did we need help. I should have said yes and let him help us but again I was scared. I didn’t want to be responsible for losing my sisters and risk getting in trouble so when the clerk mentioned calling the cops I took the girls and ran. We next went to the closest store I could find which was a 24 hour rite aide. I knew they would be open, even on Christmas, they always were. I dragged the girls inside and wandered around the isles for a bit till I was sure that no one was watching me then I went to the baby section, tore open a pack of diapers and took out two and shoved them quickly into my coat. I took the girls to the bathroom and cleaned them up the best I could and changed them.
That seemed to ease their crying for a while but they were still hungry and I knew that sooner or later I’d have to find them something to eat or risk a full blown melt down in the middle of the store. I took the girls and we stood in the foyer between the two sets of automatic doors and waited for customers to come in. There weren’t a lot of people shopping on Christmas morning but by noon things started to pick up more. I asked the first few people I saw if they could spare some change for us. One guy gave me fifty cents but most of the people said they only had credit cards on them, no cash.
I went inside and used my fifty cents to buy a small bag of chips then took the girls outside and sat them on a bench against the store and gave them the chips. They scarfed it down quickly but I knew it would keep them content for long but I was lost as to what to do. My panhandling wasn’t adding up to much and I wasn’t about to go home and ask my mom for anything. I just wasn’t sure what to do. The twins had started crying again, and I tried my best to calm them down but telling them to be quiet only seemed to make things worse. At this point I was ready to start crying too. I started thinking some very dark thoughts at that point. Maybe it would be best to go inside and have the manager call the police.
If they went to the house and saw where we were living and what the inside of the house looked like they certainly would take us away right? Even if they only took the twins and not me they would be better off I supposed. I could take a beating if I knew that the girls would be safe. Another thought that crossed my mind was to go inside the store and steal enough sleeping pills that if I gave some to the girls and took the rest myself, we’d be sure to never wake up again. Sure this was a horrible thought but at this point it seemed better than having to keep living the way we were living. I considered both possibilities, really thought them over good and tried to decide what would be the best course of action. Was ending all three of our lives worse than allowing my two baby sisters to continue living in hell? Could I actually hand them over to the police and watch them being taken away from the only family they knew and then never know what had become of them? What if the people they were placed with was just as bad? I’d heard horror stories about foster homes and wasn’t sure if going to one wasn’t just jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.
While I sat there thinking about things that no 12 year should should have to think about, an elderly woman suddenly came up to us and started talking to me. She asked if we were alright and wanted to know why we weren’t home with our parents. I lied to her and said that both my parents were at work and wouldn’t be home till late, and that I had brought my sisters out to play but decided to stop at the store and get them each a candy bar. She smiled at me and said what a good brother I was. She asked if we’d had a nice Christmas and I said Oh yeah, we got tons of toys and candy, it was all great. She seemed pleased with my answer but I wasn’t totally sure that she actually bought it. She told us to have a merry Christmas and then went into the store and I figured that was the last time I’d see her but I was wrong.
About a half an hour later she came back out and had two bags full of food and other things with her. She looked surprised but also happy to see that we were still sitting on the bench. She sat down next to us and asked me what our names were. I’m Nicky, I told her, and then introduced my sisters, Grace, and Kayla. She remarked what wonderful names we had and then said that she had a daughter named Grace and had always loved that name. She smiled somewhat somberly when she talked about her daughter then she told me that her kids had all moved away and it had been some years since she’d seen any of them. She told me how every year she would make Christmas dinner and have all of her kids and grandchildren come over, the house was always full of people, and then she went on to describe the different foods they would have. Honestly, it was making me more hungry, but I enjoyed listening to her. It made me remember a time when my mom made dinners like that, back when we were happy.
The old woman told me that her name was Martha, and even though her children have all moved away and she had no other family in the area, she still cooks a Christmas dinner each year in hopes that one year her children may return to her. That seemed sad to me, here was this kind, and obviously loving woman who wanted nothing more than to spend the holidays with her family but couldn’t. It was such a difference from my own family who could care less what happened to us. For the longest time I had thought that all grown-ups were like my parents. I started to think of our lives as being normal but meeting Martha reminded me that there was still kindness in the world and that there were people who did care.
She looked at me then and asked if my mother would be cooking a Christmas dinner after she returned from work and I shook my head. She works long hours I told her. She’ll probably come home and go straight to bed. Martha smiled and said that its unfortunate that my parents had to work on Christmas and that we couldn’t spend the time together. I just shrugged and said I was used to it. That's when she patted me on the back and said that she had a wonderful idea, since she had so much food, and none of us could spend Christmas with our families, why didn’t I bring my sisters to her house and we could have dinner with her. She said that it would help brighten her spirits if we did because it would remind of her when she had her own grandchildren over.
Now, I was well aware of all the warnings about strangers and never to go home with someone you don’t know or accept gifts from strangers but from my perspective, this woman couldn’t do anything worse to us than what had already been done. She seemed nice enough, she was an old woman, and lets face it. She wasn’t some pervert in a van passing out candy to innocent young kids. Besides that, I was starving and I knew that my sisters were too. I accepted eagerly and if you want to know the truth, I never once felt anything other than kindness and good will from this woman. No red flags went up, no creepy vibes, just an old woman who wanted to spend Christmas with three poor kids she met on a bench outside of a store.
We walked back to her house and I was happy to see that it was a cute but small cottage type house, and not made of ginger bread or anything. It was decorated for Christmas and seemed real homey. We went inside and immediately I noticed the warm, amber glow of the fire and the indistinct smell of cookies and fudge. Okay, so it was a little bit like Hansel and Gretel walking into the old witches ginger bread house but without the creepy undertones. There was cute white, miniature poodle, curled up next to the fire and a small black and white kitten playing with a wrapped gift that it had pulled out from under a huge tree that was all lit up with lights and decorated with fancy, old fashioned looking ornaments.
Martha took her coat off and instructed me to do the same. She frowned some when she saw the shabby clothes that we were wearing. Wait right there she told me and then disappeared into another room. She came back out carrying three knitted, holiday sweaters and handed them to me with a smile. I made these for my own little ones to wear if they happened to come by, but they never do. You can have them this year. Thinking back, it was odd that the three sweaters were exactly our sizes, but I didn’t think anything of it then. I put mine on and then dressed the girls in theirs and thanked Martha for her kindness. She lit up when she saw us and assured me that there was no thanks needed, she was just happy that the sweaters didn’t go to waste.
They were so warm and snug. Mine was red and green with reindeer on the front. The girls were white with gingerbread men and a Christmas tree. Martha was wearing a similar sweater with a picture of Mrs. Clause on the front of hers, and it was pulled over a read dress with a white hem. She went into the kitchen then came back out a few minutes later wearing a read and green apron and carrying a tray of cookies and three glasses of eggnog. She sat the tray on the coffee table and told us to help ourselves while she finished getting the dinner ready.
I could already smell the aroma of the food wafting out from the kitchen and it made my mouth water. The girls made short work of the cookies but they weren’t too impressed with the eggnog. That was okay with me though cause I finished theirs off too. It was so good and it had been years since I had any. I noticed plates of other goodies on the coffee table; Fudge of just about every kind. Hershey kisses wrapped in red, green, and silver, wrappers. Miniature Santa clauses smiling at us and tiny balls of chocolate. I really wanted some but didn’t want to be rude. Just about that time she hollered out from the kitchen to help ourselves to the candy as well. It was almost too good to be true.
The next surprise came when she told me that there were three stalkings hanging over the fire place, again meant for her grandchildren, but since they were unlikely to show up, we were welcome to them. I insisted that we couldn’t but she was persistent. They’ll just be tossed out after the holidays. She told me. Seemed like such a waste that no children would get to enjoy them. I couldn’t argue with that so I took down the stalkings and handed one to each of the girls and then kept the more boyish looking one for myself. Inside the stalkings were more candy of course, complete with candy canes, and small toys that seemed oddly gender and age appropriate. I just assumed that her grandchildren were close to our ages which in retrospect seems like too much of a coincidence, but what did a 12 year old know?
I was thrilled to find Pokemon cards in my stalking, along with some toy cars, colored pencils and a rubik’s cube. The colored pencils were probably my favorite because I loved to draw. I mentioned this to Martha and she smiled once again and said she was glad. She stood looking at the tree with her hands on her hips and I could tell that she was thinking as she examined the different wrapped gifts. You know what...she said as she began looking through the gifts, I know I have...oh yes here it is. She pulled out a gift that was flat, rectangle shaped, and fairly light and handed it to me. Funny you mentioned drawing. She remarked. My grandson is quite the artist too. Why don’t you take this, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. She handed me the gift and I was confused at first but then I decided to just go with it and I unwrapped it. It was a drawing pad. My eyes filled with tears as I looked at her but she only smiled back warmly. Draw me a nice picture that I can hang on my wall. She told me. I nodded then went to work drawing the best picture I could for her. It was the least that I could do.
I worked hard on that drawing while the girls played with their small toys on the floor. I must have been really into my work because the time passed so quickly, the dinner was ready before I even knew it. She called us out to the table and I almost fainted. There was a place setting for each of us, complete with booster seats for the girls. The table was set with a large bird in the center and it looked so good. There were mashed potatoes, yams with marshmallow topping, corn, homemade noodles, stuffing, and rolls. She poured us each a glass of ice cold milk and told us to take our seats. Once we were seated she instructed us to bow our heads and then she offered up an offering for the food, something I’ve not done in a very long time. It felt good though to sit at a table with her and my sisters, offering grace for this magical meal, and really feeling loved and cared for. We ate and ate until I felt like my stomach was about to burst. The girls were loving every minute of it, laughing and playing with their food and when I scolded them for making a mess Martha just waved her hand and laughed some. Girls will be girls she mused.
When the meal was done I offered to help her clean up but she said it wasn’t necessary. Now, why don’t you go out and look under that tree. She told me. I knew by now not to argue. I went out to the other room and did as she had told me and was shocked by what I saw. There were gifts under the tree that had our names on them! I have no idea when she even had the time to do it but there they were. All wrapped up and tied with bows. I was sure that I hadn’t seen those gifts there before but then I had been really into my drawing. I handed the girls their gifts and they ripped into them at once, laughing and throwing the paper around. Martha sat down on the couch with a mug of what I assume now was hot coco, seems fitting. She picked up my drawing and examined it. This is wonderful. She crooned. You are so talented, I know just where I’m going to hang this.
She seemed genuinely pleased watching us open our gifts and seeing our reactions. The girls each got a doll baby with accessories. I had gotten a journal and new ink pens and a hand held video game. Nothing expensive really like Nintendo or xbox, just an arcade game like from Atari or something but it was cool and I was happy to have it. It had been a while since I’d gotten anything new and most of my other toys had either been left at the old house or were in storage in my grandparents basement. Just the idea of getting something new and fun to play with meant a lot to me and I started crying. Now, I won’t have that. Martha said as she motioned for me to come over to her. This is supposed to be a happy time. I am happy. I told her, that's why I’m crying. That was only part of the truth though. I was also crying because I didn’t want this day to ever end. I didn’t want to go back to that cold tent, and the days of going with no food, and living with parents that didn’t care if I lived or died.
I wished that we could have just stayed there with Martha forever but I knew that wasn’t possible. Eventually we’d have to leave and go back to the tent and our bleak little lives.
The night wasn’t quite over yet. Martha sat on the floor in front of the fire and had my sisters and I sit down next to her. The babies were almost asleep. Their tiny heads laying side by side in my lap. Martha covered them with a blanket then took out an old, hard back book, that I recognized at once as the “Night before Christmas.” My mother had read the story to me when I was younger, but I don’t think the girls had ever had the privilege. It seemed a fitting end to a perfect day and I was glad that they could cuddle up next to each other and fall asleep to such a wonderful, classic story.
Martha opened the book and began to read. Her voice was so warm and loving. So many memories of my past came back to me and I smiled thinking back to a better time. I held my two sisters close and closed my eyes as I listened to the story. It was a wonderful thing to just sit there, hearing the sound of the old woman’s voice, the warmth of the fire surrounding us, and the smell of the house and all it’s delicious aromas filling my mind. But, all good things come to an end, and as the night drew darker I knew that it was time for us to go. I thanked Martha for everything and told her what a wondering Christmas we’d had. She hugged us each and assured me that it was her pleasure to have had us spend the holiday with her and keep her company.
I bundled my sisters up again and they yawned in between whines of protest at being woken up and made to go back out into the harsh, cold, air. There wasn’t anything I could do though, we had to leave. Martha put our gifts in some brightly colored holiday gift bags and after thanking her again we left. The walk back to the tent was a cold and bitter walk. I carried the girls half the way back but they had gotten too heavy the farther we walked and so I had to set them down, much to their disappointment and anger. Kayla kicked me once and Grace threw herself onto the snow covered ground, screaming and kicking in rage, but I did manage to get them back, eventually. When getting them ready for bed I looked in the gift bags and noticed the blanket that Martha had covered the girls with earlier was tucked neatly into one of the bags. I smiled, took the blanket out, and covered them with it.
I knew that I’d have to explain the things we’d gotten to my mom. I couldn’t tell her about the kind old woman we’d met so I decided that I would make up a story about going to the community center for a free dinner and a gift give away. With programs like toys for tots and meals for the homeless it was a believable story. As I suspected, my mom bought it, though she scolded me for not bringing any food back with me, or trying to get any money or gift cards as well. Luckily, she allowed us to keep the gifts, though the man wasn’t happy about it. He said we could have gotten at least 20 bucks for everything if not more, but mom won out in the end and convinced him not to take our Christmas away from us.
That summer I was walking down town, once again panhandling for money, when I happened past the cozy little cottage that we’d visited that previous Christmas. I was almost certain that it was the same house though the cottage that I was standing in front of was old, and in very poor condition. I stepped up onto the porch and peeked inside the windows. The house was just as run down inside as it was on the outside. Litter and debris covered the floor and dust blanketed everything in sight. The house looked as though no one had lived there in years and I was almost convinced that I had mistaken the house as one that merely looked like Martha’s cottage until I saw something familiar through the broken window that I was looking through. There on the wall, beside the neglected fire place, was the drawing that I had made for Martha, hung on the wall right where she said she would hang it.
I knew then that it wasn’t my imagination. This was the house we’d been in though I couldn’t understand the state of it now. Could she have passed away and the house fell in such disrepair in such a short time? Did she perhaps know that that was her last Christmas and she desperately wanted to spend it with someone? Or, was it honestly a Christmas miracle? I like to believe the latter. I like to think that Martha was some Christmas angel, some kind force in the world that went from town to town helping out needy children. Perhaps she was in some other town, in some other state, getting ready to help some new kids and bring them the same wonderful and memorable Christmas that she had brought to us.
