I was seven: A forgotten orphan’s memories of a true New Year’s Eve
Every individual holds onto memories that remain etched in their minds forever.
I have one such night—a night that has stayed with me, even as I approach my fortieth year.
Let me start from the very beginning.
Born in Confinement
I came into this world not in a cozy home, surrounded by loving parents, but behind the cold, unforgiving walls of a prison.
My mother was imprisoned when she was five months pregnant. My father abandoned her right after her arrest and never returned to our lives. He seemed indifferent to whether she was alive or whether his son had been born.
My mother was of mixed English and Romani descent, and she worked as a bookkeeper in a food factory. She was accused of embezzling a large sum of money, but no evidence was ever found, nor the money itself.
For several months, I lived with her in her jail cell while she cared for me. Eventually, I was placed in a children’s home awaiting adoption.
But no one wanted to adopt me.
When I turned three, my mother passed away. I don’t even remember her face.
After her death, I was transferred to an orphanage.
I try not to dwell on my life there.
Yet, one moment lingers in my mind, and I return to it again and again.
The First 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 specifically. Perhaps they felt pity for me, or maybe they wanted to perform a good deed before the holidays.
But I didn’t think about that at the time.
I felt I had stepped into a fairy tale.
Until then, I had never seen Father Christmas. I had never watched television. I had never eaten so many sweets.
They fed me a festive dinner and then tucked me into bed.
But at midnight, they woke me up.
“Come here,” said the hostess, leading me into the living room.
I froze at the threshold.
Before me stood a gigantic tree, adorned with countless lights and ornaments. It shimmered and glowed in all hues, seeming truly magical.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it.
I stood there, like one of Gavroche’s friends seeing a wonder for the first time.
Then something even more extraordinary happened.
A real Father Christmas entered the room.
He smiled at me, handed me a sack, and said:
“This is for you.”
I received my very first Christmas gift—a toy, a warm wool scarf, and mittens.
I was overjoyed.
Return to Reality
The next morning, the magic continued.
I feasted on sweets, watched as the family exchanged gifts, and listened to carols on the television.
It felt as though I had become part of their world.
But as evening approached, I was taken back to the orphanage.
I found myself once again among cold walls, surrounded by children who received no gifts, amid caregivers weary from our antics.
And yet, I was not the same as before.
I now knew there was another world out there—a world where happiness existed.
Years Passed…
Now I am an adult, with a family and two wonderful sons.
Yet, for me, New Year’s will always be the most significant celebration.
Every year, I buy a tree—the largest one I can find. Perhaps it’s because I want to recreate that moment when I first witnessed the magic.
I still cherish the red scarf that Father Christmas gifted me that night.
An Unanswered Question
My father never found me. Not once did he try to discover what had become of me.
And I think of my mother with warmth.
In my heart, I always refer to her as the Blessed Mother.
And I continue to ask myself: Was she at fault?
Or was she merely a victim of others’ sins?
