A sixth-grade Christmas

In many families, individuals assume certain roles that seem to typecast them throughout their lives. Despite being the youngest, I was "the responsible one" in my family. I was the one who completed the chores when others didn't and the one who did the grocery shopping to ensure we didn't run out of food.

My brother Jimmy was two years older than I, and he was "the rebel." Jimmy never met a rule that he didn't want to break, and often, it was he who made my "role" even more challenging. Jimmy's reputation preceded me in school, ensuring that every teacher I ever encountered knew everything about my family without me ever having to speak.

We grew up during a time when charitable agencies for families living in poverty did not exist. People didn't speak publicly about their problems, and yet somehow, the generosity and kindness of others did reach those in need. Our family struggled to pay for necessities such as housing and heat; certainly there was no money available for luxury items like Christmas trees. Despite that, I wanted our family to have one.

The Christmas tree represented to me a symbol of optimism in the midst of a frigid, lifeless winter. It also made me feel that our family was not different from all of the other families in our community—a very important value at the time for this 9-year-old girl.

Every year, my teachers would speak to me privately after the last school day before winter recess, asking me to take the class Christmas tree home. The tree always came complete with the decorations that my class made. It was a ritual that began when I was in kindergarten and continued until I was in the fourth grade.

That year I was astonished when my teacher asked the entire class if anyone did not have a Christmas tree. I sat frozen at my desk, too timid to admit in front of my classmates that my family did not have a tree. A boy raised his hand high in the air. "Okay, we have one person. Is there anyone else who does not have a tree yet? We will have a drawing to determine who gets the class tree," the teacher stated.

I felt ashamed, but I desperately wanted the tree for my family. I raised my hand timidly, dropping it suddenly as the teacher looked in my direction, praying that no one would see my hand raised. "Okay, there is Peter and Lisa." The teacher wrote each of our names on pieces of paper and drew a name. "Peter!" she announced the winner.

That was the first time I became aware that other families may have been living in similar conditions as my own. I didn't begrudge the boy for winning. I wouldn't have wanted his family to be without a tree. And yet, I felt ashamed while walking home from school. I felt as though I was a failure and had let my family down. I was the one who always brought home the Christmas tree and I failed to deliver. I ruined my family's Christmas.

The cold winter wind slapped my face harshly as I walked home. About halfway home, my path intersected perpendicularly with my brother Jimmy's as he walked down Orchard Street and I was on Main. He had the grin of the Cheshire Cat before noticing my tears. "What's wrong?" he asked. I explained how I had lost a drawing for my class Christmas tree to another student. "I am so sorry that I was unable to get a Christmas tree," I sobbed.

"Then it is a good thing that I did!" he exclaimed enthusiastically as he gave a big tug, exposing the tree he had been dragging behind him. "Help me carry this thing, will ya?" It was a magnificent tree. It was the most beautiful tree that I ever saw, decorated with the sophisticated ornaments made by his sixth-grade class.

I held the tree from the top as Jimmy carried the trunk. Jimmy grinned the entire way home. My burden lifted from my shoulders even as I carried the tree.

I have never forgotten how proud Jimmy looked when the family learned that it was he who brought home the tree that year. That was the day I learned that the burden of expectations from others, or even those which are self-imposed, can be lightened when we allow others to help. I also learned that people do not always live up to your expectations; they sometimes exceed them.