Our family moved to Orange, Texas, in 1976, when my husband, Jerry, got a job in a refinery as a pipe-fitter and welder. We left Dallas and moved into a small mobile home. When the job in Orange ended, we waited for the union to find Jerry more work. Months went by. Rent was due on the mobile home, and so were the payments on our home back in Dallas, to which we knew we’d eventually return.

 

At least we’ll have a nice dinner, I thought as I drove the girls to the supermarket on Christmas Eve. Amanda was nine months old and Kimberly was three. We’d spent what money we had to get them a few gifts, with just enough left over for a nice dinner. Not exactly the kind of Christmas that would make a lifetime memory.

 

Even in the supermarket I was surrounded by reminders of everything we wouldn’t have this year. The poinsettias in pots wrapped with shiny paper looked especially tempting. I hoped the girls weren’t as distracted by the decorations as I was. Kimberly skipped alongside the cart, giddy with excitement. I was afraid she had disappointment in store. Maybe she won’t remember this Christmas at all, I thought, pushing Amanda in the kiddie seat. It seemed the best thing I could hope for.

 

We finally got through the checkout counter. The exit door opened and we wheeled out to see a wall of Christmas trees, each one waiting to be untied so its branches could fan out in a special spot at home. “Look, Momma!” said Kimberly...read more