I was 7: A Orphan’s Memories of a True New Year’s Eve
Every person cherishes moments in their memory that they can never forget.
I, too, hold onto such a night. A night that has lingered with me, even as I approach my 40s.
Let me start at the beginning.
Born in Captivity
I entered this world not in a cozy home, surrounded by loving parents, but behind the cold walls of a prison.
My mother was incarcerated when she was five months pregnant. My father abandoned her immediately after her arrest and has never been part of our lives since. He didn’t care whether she lived or whether his son was born.
My mother, half English and half Romani, worked as an accountant at a canning factory. She was accused of embezzling a large sum of money, but no evidence was found, nor were the missing funds.
For several months, I lived with her in her cell while she fed me. Eventually, I was transferred to a mother-and-baby home awaiting adoption.
Yet, no one was willing to take me.
When I was three, my mother passed away. I couldn’t even recall her face.
After her death, I was moved to an orphanage.
I prefer not to dwell on life there.
But there’s one moment that I revisit time and time again.
A True New Year’s Eve
I was seven when a family took me in for New Year’s Eve.
I had no idea why they chose to invite me. Perhaps they felt pity for me, or maybe they wanted to do a good deed for the holidays.
At that time, I didn’t ponder these thoughts.
I had stepped into a fairy tale.
Before that, I had never seen Father Christmas. I had never watched television. I had never eaten so many sweets.
They fed me at their festive table, and then tucked me in for the night.
But they woke me at midnight.
“Come here,” said the hostess, leading me to the living room.
I stood frozen at the threshold.
Before me stood a magnificent Christmas tree, adorned with countless garlands and ornaments. It shimmered and sparkled in every colour, seeming truly magical.
I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
I stood there as if I were one of Gavroche’s little friends, witnessing a wonder for the first time.
Then something even more extraordinary happened.
A real Father Christmas entered the room.
He smiled at me, extended a sack, and said:
“This is for you.”
I received my first Christmas gift—a toy, a warm woollen scarf, and mittens.
I was overjoyed.
Return to Reality
The next morning, the magic continued.
I indulged in sweets, watching as the whole family exchanged gifts, listening to songs on the television.
I felt as though I had become a part of this world.
However, closer to evening, they took me back to the orphanage.
I found myself once again amid cold walls, surrounded by children who received no gifts, and caregivers weary of our antics.
Yet, I was different from before.
I knew there was another world out there. A world where happiness existed.
Years Passed…
Now I am an adult. I have a family and two wonderful sons.
But New Year’s will always remain the most significant holiday for me.
Each year, I buy the biggest Christmas tree. Perhaps I do this because I want to recreate that moment when I first glimpsed the magic.
I still have the red scarf that Father Christmas gave me.
An Unanswered Question
My father never searched for me. He never once tried to find out what had become of me.
But I think of my mother with fondness.
In my heart, I always call her the Blessed Virgin.
And I can’t help but ask myself: was she to blame?
Or was she merely a victim of others’ sins?
