Christmas Memory

I was reading Yankeebob's blog and came upon a memory from Christmas years ago that I thought I should share. I was 11 or 12 maybe, and my brother was maybe 8 or 9. My mother and father are divorced and my Mom has spent all year working two and sometimes three jobs to provide for us. I didn't know then, as I do now, that much of her Christmas presents from friends were cash, so she could get things for us boys when times were tough. All the things she did for me and my brother for so many years; I will never forget what she has gone through to get us this far in life. My brother and I wake to run into the living room and drag mom out of bed. It's Christmas and we have lots of work to do... (and by work, I mean opening presents in fervent abandon.) I can't remember what we got that year now, the memories have faded through time, but the point still sits with me. It happened when we were done. My brother and I were happy, ready to play with our new toys, as any kids would be. Mom was exhausted from spending all night being Santa Claus. I guess Christmas had to have been pretty sparse that year. I can't remember for sure, but it would have to be for this to have happened... Mom sent me outside with the trash, to carry all the paper and boxes to the can at the end of the driveway. As I walked past the car, I saw a black trash bag on the trunk. Curiously, I grabbed it and prepared to heave it with me to the road. I remember being surprised at the weight and size of it. It was a giant lawn-leaf trash bag and the sides of the bag were stressed in places where the sharp corners of packages had left marks in the plastic. Curiously, I ran back inside and asked Mom if she had forgotten presents outside. Of course not she told us. Who would do that? "Well, they're out there" I informed her. I ran outside to get the bag and bring it back in the house, all thoughts of the trash forgotten. I'll never forget seeing the truly curious look on her face when that bag came inside. I've always been good at reading people, even as a child, and I remember watching her face; waiting to see her sly smile belie the lie and expecting to discover that she truly DID know what was in the bag. She didnt. I remember seeing her stand there curious as we opened the bag. There were of course gifts in it. Gifts were pulled from the bag and stacked in piles, separating those for me and my brother. Suddenly, she was surprised seeing a third pile formed. Those had her name on them. Now my mother has a beautiful hand-writing but she's left handed, so I can recognize her South-Paw script anywhere in the world. These were all adressed to us by name, individually, and it truly was not her writing. I can't remember what we got from that bag that year, but I don't think that was the important part of gift. We each opened our presents, truly amazed to see things we had all wanted. Who would know this stuff? I remember playing detective and trying to puzzle these things out for myself. Both my brother, myself, and mom got things we asked no one for but all wanted. Somewhere in the distance that day, I'm sure there was a "ho ho ho" because Santa Claus had truly come to my home that year. If it was a person, and I'll never know for sure who it could have been, then they have my eternal gratitude. I will forever remember the day that Christ and Christmas were joined in my memory. We weren't poor, but we weren't wealthy either. Someone knew that. Someone cared enough to take money from their own family, their own children, and themselves, and shared it with us that year. That was the Christmas I remember most. Merry Christmas everyone.