A Child’s First Christmas Memory

It was such an honor to have my article published in The Mountaineer in December 2024. I wanted to share that same article here.

“Hurry, girls, come see what Santa left for you last night,” we heard Daddy call from the living room.

Wanda and I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall, squealing with laughter.

“Santa came, Santa came!” I held Wanda’s hand as we giggled.

I was five years old and Wanda was only three when we experienced our first memory of a Christmas morning with presents around a glistening Christmas tree. We stopped and starred at the tree. Never had we seen so beautiful a tree or so many magically wrapped gifts — all for us.

Daddy and Mama stood there, waiting to capture our expressions.

“Go ahead girls, those are for you,” Daddy assured us.

We stood motionless, side by side, hand in hand, looking at each other and then back at the tree.

Mama opened her arms and called for us to sit by them next to the tree. She picked up a box and handed each of us a gift.

“Open this one first,” she smiled as she winked at us.

We slowly took our gifts and began tearing off the sparkly paper.

“Do you like them? I made these dresses for each of you to wear to church Sunday. Here, let’s open this present next.”

She handed us box after box. We squealed with delight when we unwrapped each gift to see what was inside.

We found new baby dolls with a stroller, a tea set, batons to twirl, an ironing board with pretend iron for all the doll clothes Mama had made, even a drum set and a tiny piano. Never had we seen so many gifts — just for us.

“Okay girls, that’s all the presents to open, but there’s a bigger surprise outside. Follow me!”

Daddy jumped up and headed toward the door. Wanda and I ran behind him, still in our footed-pajamas.

“Look what Santa brought — a new bike for each of you!”

Daddy couldn’t hide his big grin and tears in his eyes. Why would my Daddy be holding back tears?

Wanda and I had no memory of ever celebrating a Christmas like this. We’d been in foster care for 904 days, having been moved from one home to another four times, separated and scared.

Our physical and emotional scars were evident. By God’s grace this wonderful man and woman adopted both of us together as the caseworker said she thought it best that we not be separated again. During the first few weeks in our new home, we cried at night.

One evening in late August, the hot sun finally set. The attic fan blew a cool breeze throughout the house. Our new mother had tried everything she could to calm my sister, but nothing worked.

“Let me hold her,” our new daddy said. He took her in his arms and walked out onto the screened porch, sat in the glider and swung back and forth, rubbing his new daughter’s back in an effort to calm her fears. Wanda would speak just one word, “home…home.”

Daddy would softly say, “You are home, honey. You belong here with us. We will never leave you.”

After several hours of crying, Wanda fell asleep in his arms. This was the ritual for many weeks to follow. They became inseparable.

It was on that glider, in the arms of our new daddy, that we felt safe for the first time. Our lives were transformed by parents who loved unconditionally and sacrificially.

The caseworker had told my parents that Wanda may be going blind because she rolled her eyes back whenever anyone approached her. The pediatrician examined her eyes and made this remark.

“No ma’am. There’s nothing wrong with this little girl’s eyes — nothing that a little bit of love won’t cure.”

There would be many more memories made at Christmas celebrations in our forever home. Adoption changed our lives forever.