“Find
something to put in the Sub-for-Santa box,” we told our children one December
day.
“But I don’t
want to give my stuff away,” Julie cried, keeping a tight grip on Baby, her favorite rubber doll.
“Not even a toy you never play with anymore?” I tried to change her mind. “Somewhere in this world
there’s a little girl who might not get anything for Christmas, unless we help.”
Julie sucked
her lower lip. Chin down, she looked up through long eyelashes. “If we don’t help, that little girl won't get anything?
“She might
not.”
My daughter
seemed to understand. Laying Baby down, she made a beeline for her room, where she rummaged through her toy
box so long I was surprised to see her return with nothing in her hands.
“I decided
to give Baby away,” she finally said.
“Baby?” My voice seemed much too loud. “Why, she’s
your best dolly—you can’t give her away!
“Here,” I
said, guiding her back to the toy box, “let’s put Strawberry Shortcake
in the Sub-for-Santa box. You haven’t had her out since you were two years old.”
“Mommy,” Julie wondered later, as I tucked her
into bed, do you really think that little girl will want Strawberry Shortcake?”
“Of course, she
will.”
“Even if there’s
ink in her ears, where I drawed on her?”
“That little girl probably won’t even notice, Sweetheart,” I said, kissing Julie's forehead and
turning out the light.
What a
restless night! I couldn’t have slept worse if my waterbed had sprung a
leak. For hours I tossed and turned because I knew what needed to be done.
The next
morning, I went to stand with Julie by the Sub-for-Santa box. Bravely,
so tenderly, she hugged Baby one last time and nestled her among the other toys.
“You can’t help
feeling sad,” I touched a teardrop trickling
down my daughter’s cheek. “You’ve loved Baby very, very much.”
“It’s okay,”
the child looked up. “That little girl, will love her even
more.”
 |
| If we don't help, that little girl won't get anything? |
