It was 1952 and my father was away at war, leaving my mother and me behind to face hardship alone. I was ten. My mother was a 1 and worked at the local clinic a few blocks from where we lived.
The bell rang and 2of Christmas were the only thing on my mind. I raced home. The apartment was empty and a note was 3to the refrigerator. My mother was working a double shift and 4 me instructions for the day. We had planned on making Christmas biscuits 5 , but my mother6 it.
I carefully 7through mother's closet, finding most of the 8 for Christmas wrapped in linen cloth, all but one toy, a model airplane. I was still 9 at my mother and I threw the airplane onto the floor, breaking one of its wings. I stood10 . How was I going to explain this? Then I heard my mother coming through the door. I 11 to my room.
After telling my mother the horrible12, I did not hear my mother 13 me. She just told me to follow her. Climbing the steps without catching our 14, we entered the clinic. There in a bed was a boy who looked very sick.
“He is going to die, Danny,” my mother told me, “15 today, maybe tomorrow. He loves planes. I knew his mother could not 16 to buy him one. So I did. I count my blessings every night and think of this boy and how 17 I am that you are not in that bed.”
The 18 cut hard and sharp in my heart. The tears 19 down my face and I was so guilty. I ran home as fast as I could and into my room where I 20 myself to sleep.
