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 1and worked at the local hospital 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 4me instructions for the day. We had planned on making Christmas biscuits 5, but my mother 6it.
I carefully 7through mother's closet, finding most of the 8for Christmas wrapped in linen cloth, all but one toy, a model airplane. I was still 9at my mother and I threw the airplane onto the floor, breaking one of its wings. I stood 10. How was I going to explain this Then I heard my mother coming through the door. I 11to my room.
After telling my mother the horrible 12, I did not hear my mother 13me. 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, "15today, maybe tomorrow. He loves planes. I knew his mother could not 16to buy him one. So I did. I count my blessings every night and think of this boy and how 17I am that you are not in that bed."
The 18cut hard and sharp in my heart. The tears 19down my face and I was so guilty. I ran home as fast as I could and into my room where I 20myself to sleep.
