So This is Christmas?

I was really pleased with myself last week when I was able to overcome my writer’s block and kick out two Christmas poems. I even felt like a little Christmas Spirit had entered my heart. (Something I missed last year while I was trying get over the death of my husband.) So, proudly, I entered "The Christmas Card"  in "Best Of Three Contest" . You can imagine how thrilled I was when it made it to the "Best of Three Poll XXVIII - CLOSED" !

My good feelings were shattered when I got two reviewers who belittled me for writing a poem that ruined their perceptions of Christmas. One accused me of writing about abuse and the other, well, I guess they thought I “AMBUSHED” them into reading something less than Christmassy. I felt really bad that the poem had such a negative effect on them. Only for a second did I consider removing my poem from the contest and off the site completely. But I worked up my resolve and refused to remove it simply because they missed what my poem is really about.

“Dear Santa” is a slice of my childhood, when Christmas was less than merry for me and my family. Dad had been laid off and we fell into the ranks of poverty. We lost our home, moved to the Projects and became a family of six living off a twenty-five dollar per week welfare check. Needless to say, the Projects aren’t conducive for having cheerful thoughts when you had to worry about whether you would survive against neighbors (adults and kids) who were hardened enough to hurt you for whatever you had that they could use. It wasn’t unusual that homicides took place in the neighborhood or an apartment was burglarized. The police were often seen here for one reason or another.

Anyhow….

We didn’t have a Christmas tree, we had a Christmas branch. We would get it from the local tree lot that sold Christmas trees. The branch was a cut-off from the bottom of a large tree so that it would fit in a stand. We would lug it home to place it in an old bucket filled with sand. Then we would make all the decorations from construction paper, bits of tin foil and little trinkets from bubblegum machines. What made it so special was when Mom placed the Nativity figurines beneath "our tree”. The Crèche scene would be the only thing under the tree come Christmas morning.

I still recall how happy we kids were when we got Christmas stockings from the Salvation Army. They were filled with a handful of hard candies, a couple of pencils, a note pad, a tiny doll for the girls, a toy car for the boys and a large orange. (There was no “Toys For Tots” back then.)

Yes, it wasn’t much of a Christmas, but we were happy that we were still all together. Other families fared far worse than we did as the children were separated from their parents, as well as their siblings, and placed in foster homes or junvenile facilities.

It was those years that prompted me to write “Dear Santa”.

I apologized to each of the readers who were offended and suggested they count their blessings that they didn't have to endure the kind of Christmas that I had to, and which many others still must tolerate to this day.

I hope they can assuage their injured feelings by making a donation of a toy, food, or time to those who will feel the crush of a Christmas without.

It takes each and every one of us to make a difference at this time of year by opening our eyes and hearts instead of presents and give of ourselves. It is then that we are truly blessed with the spirit of Christmas.

May the spirit of Christmas touch each one of us this year with charity and understanding.

MERRY CHRISTMAS WRITING.COM!