The child
written by: Beth Tremaglio
@TremaglioBeth
On this eve,
a light snow begins to fall,
the moon dim reflects off a window,
a child presses his face up against the glass in hopes of St. Nick,
he has listened to his brothers countless tales all week-long.
On this eve,
the child’s mind fills with wonder, his eyes search the sky for a sleigh,
his ears strain for a single sound, but nothing.
The child sits near the window and wonders, maybe the kids at school are right,
St. Nick doesn’t visit kids like me.
The child places two gifts wrapped in newspaper under a Charlie Brown tree
and wonders, “maybe this is all Christmas is for me.”
“Nicholas?”
“Yea mom.”
“Brush your teeth and off to bed, you don’t want St. Nick to pass by this house because you’re awake, do you.”
“No mom,” he rolls his eyes and mumbles, “the kids at school are right, St. Nick doesn’t know boys like me.”
The child runs up the stairs, presses his face against the window one last time, nothing.
The child falls asleep.
Awakened by his mother, the child walks downstairs and glances into the living room.
“Presents?” He asks
“Presents wrapped in paper and so many!”(six each).
“I never heard St. Nick come!”
“St. Nick has been here, he has been here the whole time.” The mother says.
“But, how do I know he’s real if I never saw him?” The boy asks.
“It’s knowing that he is without seeing him, if you had seen him, he would no longer be real
inside of you Nicholas.” Explains the mother.
Before the child tears through his gifts, he hands his mother a handmade card, and small gift from school, wrapped in newspaper.
A mother’s ache dulled, a child’s lack throughout the year, does not know him this day.
This day he is just like the others at school, this day he is no different,
for on this day abundance has found him.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
For many years on Christmas Eve day, I would deliver gifts and food to those in need.
One year I was sent to drop food off at home, I was invited in and noticed a small Charlie Brown tree on a table, a single gift wrapped in newspaper laid underneath, with a note that said, “I’m sorry for this, it was all I could do, I love you, dad.”
Long story short, we had managed to pull some people together and bring to the father a tree, gifts for his daughter and for him.
Musings
Randomness of thoughts
Writing words, letting them live through me
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