Today my grandchildren handed me a Christmas list. It was a list that by today’s standards had all of the usual things that children might ask for. Some of the items were and Xbox game, a WII U, laptops and other types of toys to go with all of that. They even asked me if they could have everything on the Christmas list. Nanny they practically beg me for all of it. I sit back and reflect about my childhood and Christmas lists.
I was born and raised on the small remote island of Saint Helena. We loved Christmas and always looked forward to it. The children of the island however wouldn’t have a Christmas list, not in the way that you think of today. We had a list of things we would hope for. We took what we were given an appreciated all of it. Christmas presents back then would consist of pencils, pens, rubbers, rulers, maybe some paints, a doll for the girls and a toy car for the boys.
I always received a handmade handkerchief from my grandmother. It was made of the most beautiful Saint Helena lace. She would even embroider my name on it. Along with the other children on the island every gift that I received was appreciated and treasured.
I found a Christmas list in one of my old journals. I had written it when I was nine years old. My list was more of a prayer for help. I had asked God to let pop-pop to be nice to me for Christmas and not to swear at me and not to call me a bastard. I asked God not to let him or anyone throw away my things or mommas.
I loved Christmas. It was a time for me to get a rest from his cruelty. Poppa loved Christmas. He would line his grandchildren up and give us each a 10 shilling banknote on Christmas Eve. He would give me mine trying very hard not to touch my hands. He would always treat my cousins with love and affection. He simply just loved them, but he really did dislike me and would tell me every day how much he hated me.
Every day except Christmas Day, and that was the greatest gift he could ever have given to me, love on Christmas Day.