Miracle-making holiday

It was a cold day in December of 1962 in Springfield, Virginia, a few days before Christmas. I was just a little girl in the fifth grade eager for the holidays.

The weather being cold made it hard for my father to find work since he was a construction worker. The family was having a hard time which seemed to make it hard for my mom and dad to get along. My brother, though, always seemed to be at odds with our dad. It was after a fight with our father that he ran away from home. I thought, for sure, he would be back in a day or two. However, Christmas was coming and he still had not returned.

My mother, sister and I could hardly imagine a Christmas without him. We started calling all of his friends and putting out missing person's reports. He was in the cowboy stage, and I always believed he must have gone to Montana to ride in the rodeo.

Christmas day came and Bob still was not home. We opened our presents this Christmas with little joy, wondering what he was doing on this day all alone. It was the saddest Christmas. But it was a day or two later that Christmas came for us. The police called and said they had picked my brother up, while hitchhiking home. Our whole family was elated; we could not wait to see him.

My brother came home and his story about what he had been doing really made me happy and proud. He and a friend had hitchhiked to Pennsylvania and were taken in by a poor miner and his family. Bob and his friend found whatever odd jobs they could find in the area, and began helping the family with food and such. The family he stayed with lived in this shack that had paper-thin walls in a little town that had a lot of snow in the winter. It was cold and none of the children had any shoes to wear. Their main food source was rice and canned foods.

My brother and his friend made sure to help them out for the holidays. Bob went out and killed a deer to provide meat for the family. They had no freezer to store the meat, so they just buried it in the snow. Then he tanned the hide to make moccasins for the children's feet. The children were so happy. It was the best present they had ever received. He also helped them make the walls of their house a little stronger and warmer. Bob played the guitar and would sing all sorts of songs to entertain them. I am sure that their lives and holidays were happier because of him. And he was really happy to be able to help them and make a difference in their lives.

It was because of this experience, that my brother decided to return home. He realized that family was truly important and how much he missed being with us. We had a sad Christmas, but the new year started out right. I have never forgotten that time, but I look at it fondly because I realized too how important family is to me. It is not the holiday that makes us happy, or the presents received, but the joy of sharing it with those with love.

We can all recount endless memories of Christmas that we have had in our years of growing up and growing old, but what makes them wonderful fond memories, are the family and friends we share them with together. And as it says in the bible, "The greatest gift is love."

Cindi Foreman
Lodi