I love Christmas! I love the traditions, family, gifts…the food.
 
But I also grew up poor and, oftentimes, wondered why other kids got presents that I didn’t. As I got older, I saw the realities of the world and realized how lucky I was. While I didn’t get the Barbie Dreamhouse I wanted, I did have a Barbie doll, and we always had a roof over our head and food on the table.
 
Some children aren’t so lucky…
 
When our boys were young, my husband, who was a police officer at the time, worked with the local community and knew the families who had rough breaks. The police department spent months collecting food and toys, and then took them to the hard-working families who needed help on Christmas. The faces of the beautiful children…and the tears of the appreciative parents were unforgettable. Our sons learned something, too. When they saw how wide-eyed a little boy was to receive a Tonka truck, they were more appreciative Christmas morning when they got their Nintendo or Sega…or whatever was popular that year.
 
Someone once said that if a group of people wrote their problems on a sheet of paper and tossed them in a basket and passed that basket around and traded problems, most people would choose to keep their problems. Obviously, no one can prepare for the tragedy that happens in the blink of an eye, but is it possible that we learn to deal with what we have—or don’t have?
 
I think so. I've been through a lot in life, and yet, writing has helped me. So, when a good friend suggested I write a Dear Santa story, I wanted to bring to life a story of a woman who, like me, didn’t realize how lucky she had it…and forgot about her dreams…or assumed she wasn’t powerful enough to make her dreams come true—personally and professionally.
 
I hope you enjoy my story of hope. Hope for a single mother…her son…and the children who live on the poor side of Chicago.