My fondest memory is a doll's view of Christmas

From my place on the shelf, I watched the eager shoppers stream into the toy store. Princess ballerina dolls were on every little girls wish list, so I knew it wouldn't be long before I had a home. I looked across at all the things made for me. There were clothes, shoes, sports cars, jet skis and brass beds. I hoped whoever got me for Christmas would also get lots of stuff for me.

Just then a little girl lifted me off the shelf, "This one, mommy, please," she said.

"Oh, she's beautiful, honey," the mother replied. "She'll make someone very happy." She put me in the cart and we headed for the check stand. I was surprised they didn't buy anything else. Oh well, I thought, maybe whoever gets me already has lots of doll clothes and things.

When we got home, instead of wrapping me in pretty paper and putting me under a glittering tree, they put me in a shoe box! I was crowded with a tooth brush, tooth paste, soap, school supplies, and socks and shoes. How humiliating, I thought. I don't belong here.

The girl and her mother whispered a prayer, then closed the lid. They took me to their church and put me in a stack with dozens of other shoe boxes. The boxes were loaded onto a noisy airplane where I spent several miserable hours bumping around in the dark.

I don't belong here, I thought. I am a Princess Ballerina Doll. I belong on a brass bed-not in a shoe box!

Next, we were taken to a place where I heard lots of people talking and children laughing. All of the boxes were handed out. My lid was lifted off and I quickly looked around. I was in a village of some sort. Everything looked cramped, and bleak, and old-nothing like the brilliantly lit toy store. The people's clothes were tattered and worn. They looked very different from the nicely dressed shoppers I was used to. I definitely don't belong here, I thought.

Just then a little girl with beautiful brown eyes reached in. But she didn't grab me first. Instead she picked up the socks and shoes and hugged them to her chest. As her father helped her put them on, her mother, who had no shoes herself, whispered, "Thank you, Lord. Thank you, Lord."

The girl and her parents were delighted with everything in the box. They thanked God and asked that He bless those who sent it. The little girl grabbed me and spun in circles. Her face was radiant with love and joy as she held me up for her father to admire.

"She's just as beautiful as you are," he said and hugged her close.

No, I thought, she's far more beautiful than I. And suddenly I was glad to belong here.

Valarie Pinaglia