A few days ago, Muskegon Critic posted a diary about kids asking Santa Claus for socks. I am typically not much of a marshmallow. I have Asperger's Syndrome, and diaries by authors saying "I cried when I heard this news story," or "I am crying as I write this," rarely resonate with me. I don't really want to read about someone's tragedy unless it is meant to illustrate a broader point (like how the healthcare system is failing).
Yet there's something about kids asking Santa for socks or for Santa to transform their father into an elf and employ him that reached right in and squeezed my heart.
Stories about children or about people being kind to others often have the power to do that to me. I cry when I read Reader's Digest, I cried during the Lion King when Simba's father died, and I cried during Casper when Casper talks talks about the effect of his death on his father.
I didn't cry when I read Muskegon's diary until later, when I related the story to my kids. My sons have Asperger's, too, and they rarely think about getting presents for me (or for anyone, really). My ex-husband also has Asperger's (I think my dog has it, too), and he generally does not think about gift-giving either.
So every year, I drive them to a store, hand them money, and tell them what types of things I want for Christmas. Then I wait at the entrance while they select and pay for their gifts.
This is a step up from when they were too small to shop independently; I would buy presents for myself, wrap them, and label them to me from them so they would have something to hand me on Christmas. I decided it was important to impress on them that you give the people in your life presents at Christmas to ensure that they would not grow up to be like their father, who has to be reminded every year to get presents. Not to mention, whenever I did not buy my own presents, I never had anything to open on Christmas (at least, before I met my boyfriend).
I planned to take them out to shop the night I read Muskegon's diary. Instead, I kept thinking of little kids who wanted socks and news stories about all the kids on Food Stamps and the tens of thousands of people continuing to lose their jobs and homes each week.
This year, weeping, I told my kids about Muskegon's diary and said all I really wanted was for them to make a donation to Toys for Tots on my behalf.
It must have made an impression on them, because this morning, I picked them up at their father's, and my oldest son proudly informed me that I would be getting a card in the mail announcing their donation to Toys for Tots. I felt so good about it that I decided I'm going to ask for the same thing next year, too.
While I did not have anything to unwrap from them this year, I can't mislead you and let you think I came away emptyhanded. My youngest son, who is 11, gave me an unwrapped clay pot with a butterfly lid that he made for me in school. He does not read Kos, so I feel safe in telling you that it is a badly made clay pot--very lumpy, the clay so thick there's almost no room inside the pot, and the lid quite wobbly. And I love it.
The assignment was to make a clay pot of any kind, and it was his decision to make one for me. I know that's something kids ordinarily do, but my son has never done that before--made or selected a gift for me without being instructed to do so. To some moms, the clay pot is a tender thought that will become a sentimental memento someday. To me, it's evidence that he has reached another milestone.
Thank you Muskegon Critic, for inspiring me to think of others this Christmas. And if you have not read his/her diary, I encourage you to do so. So many kids are suffering all year long, and it is not too late to make a donation--even a small one--to a charitable organization that provides socks or food; or, you can help Toys for Tots get a leg up on next year's Toy Drive.
Happy holidays to everyone at Daily Kos, and feel free to use this diary to share your own Christmas stories.
UPDATE:
Picture of my clay pot: