It would be safe to say that I was definitely not looking forward to my first Christmas after moving to south Georgia, away from the comforts of my home, friends, and family back in Baltimore. I missed the cold weather, the steaming mugs of hot cocoa, my best friend's annual Christmas party, and most of all, Christmas at Grandma's house.
Our family would tramp into her warm kitchen after a long two-hour drive. The delicious aroma of cookies baking and the turkey roasting always made my mouth water. Grandma would bustle in with her apron covered in flour, smile, and give us each a hug. My three sisters and I would wait eagerly for our cousins to arrive to discuss Christmas presents in secret.
But now that my family had moved, that tradition was gone. Christmas this year would be different. Yet I learned, with the help of a five-year-old girl named Lauren, that I'm not so unlucky after all.
We were going Christmas shopping for Lauren, a poverty-stricken five-year-old. I walked into the store wondering what toys a little girl would like. But her mother's list had no toys. Lauren had asked Santa for socks, underwear, clothes, and shoes - necessities I had always taken for granted. I remembered being disappointed by clothes as presents, never realizing some people lacked these basics.
My sisters and I delighted in picking out little outfits and warm pajamas for her.
The real shock came when we went to deliver the gifts early in the morning. We drove past abandoned shops and tumbledown houses. Lauren's tiny, rusty trailer sat on a random plot of land with no driveway or mailbox. An old van sat among trash in the muddy yard. The rickety wooden steps looked ready to collapse, and the windows were covered with black trash bags. Our bright presents stood out against the gloomy scene.
My mother cautiously approached, left the bags, knocked, and returned to the car. As we were about to leave, the door opened. A woman stepped out, looking angry and confused.
"This is for Lauren," my mother explained, smiling. The woman stared blankly, not noticing the bags. My mother explained again, "We've left something for Lauren - it's for Christmas." The lady's dark eyes softened, and she smiled, seeming too stunned for words. We said, "Merry Christmas," and drove off, leaving her standing in her doorway, smiling.
That Christmas, as I looked at my presents and happy family, I remembered Lauren. I hoped she was having a wonderful Christmas too. I felt we had helped keep a little girl's belief in Santa Claus alive.
Without realizing it, little Lauren helped me learn how truly lucky I am. She taught me about giving, love, and the true meaning of Christmas. That Christmas was truly a memorable holiday.