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My Sixth Christmas
Now it was the day before Christmas. I couldn¡¯t be mistaken. But not a word about it from my father and mother. I waited in painful bewilderment all day. I had supper with them, and was allowed to sit up for an hour. I was waiting for them to say something. ¡°It¡¯s time for you to go to bed,¡± my mother said gently. I had to say something.
¡°This is Christmas Eve, isn¡¯t it ? I asked, as if I didn¡¯t know.
My father and mother looked at one another. Then my mother looked away. Her face was pale and stony. My father cleared his throat, and his face took on a joking look. He pretended he hadn¡¯t known it was Christmas Eve, because he hadn¡¯t been reading the papers. He said he would go downtown and find out.
My mother got up and walked out of the room. I didn¡¯t want my father to have to keep on being funny about it, so I got up and went to bed. I went by myself without having a light. I undressed in the dark and crawled into bed.
I was numb. As if I had been hit by something. It was hard to breathe. I ached all through. I was stunned¡ªwith finding out the truth.
My body knew before my mind quite did. In a minute, when I could think, my mind would know. And as the pain in my body ebbed, the pain in my mind began. I knew. I couldn¡¯t put it into words yet. But I knew why I had taken only a little bag of potatoes to Sunday school that fall. I knew why there had been only pennies in my little yellow envelop. I knew why I hadn¡¯t gone to school that fall¡ªwhy I hadn¡¯t any new shoes¡ªwhy we had been living on potato soup all winter. All these things, and others, many others, fitted themselves together in mind, and meant something.
Then the words came into my mind and I whispered them into the darkness:
¡°We¡¯re poor!¡±
That was it. I was one of those poor children I had been sorry for, when I heard about them in Sunday school.My mother hadn¡¯t told me. My father was out of work, and we hadn¡¯t any money.That was why there wasn¡¯t going to be any Chrestmas at our house.
Then I remembered something that made me feel ashamed¡ªa boast. (Memory will not yield this up. Had I said to some nice little boy, ¡°I¡¯m going to be President of the United States¡±? Or to a nice little girl: ¡°I¡¯ll marry you when I grow up¡±? It was some boast as horribly shameful to remember)
¡°We¡¯re poor.¡± There in bed in the dark, I whispered it over and over to myself. I was making myself get used to it. ( Or¡ªjust torturing myself, as one presses the tongue against a sore tooth? No, memory says not like that¡ª but to keep myself from ever being such a fool again: suffering now, to keep this awful thing from ever happening again. Memory is clear on that; it was more like pulling the tooth, to get it over with¡ªnever mind the pain, this will be the end !)
It wasn¡¯t so bad, now that I knew. I just hadn¡¯t known! I had thought all sorts of foolish things: that I was going to Ann Arbor¡ª going to be a lawyer¡ª going to make speeches in the Square, going to be President. Now I knew better.
I had wanted (something) for Christmas. I didn¡¯t want it , now. I didn¡¯t want anything .
I lay there in the dark, feeling the cold emotion of surrender. (My desire to have gifts, to own things, began to weaken, like the leaves and flowers of delicate plants curling up and dying in the chill of autumn.)
It hurt. But nothing would ever hurt again. I would never let myself want anything again.
I lay there stretched out straight and stiff in the dark, my fists clenched hard upon nothing....
In the morning it had been like a nightmare that is not clearly remembered¡ª that one wishes to forget. Though I hadn¡¯t hung up any stocking , there was one hanging at the foot of my bed. A bag of popcorn, and a lead pencil, for me. They had done the best they could , now they realized that I knew about Christmas. But they needn¡¯t have thought they had to . I didn¡¯t want anything.
From Subject and Structure, 1963.
Approximately 1500 words
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