I was 7: An Orphan’s Memories of a True New Year’s Eve
Every person carries memories of moments that are impossible to forget.
I have such a night. A night that has remained with me, even as I approach my 40s.
But let me start from the beginning.
Born in Confinement
I came into this world not in a cozy home, surrounded by loving parents, but behind the cold bars of a prison.
My mother was incarcerated when she was five months pregnant. My father abandoned her right after her arrest and has never been a part of our lives since. He didn’t care if she was alive, or if his son was born.
My mother was half English and half Romani and worked as a bookkeeper in a factory. She was accused of stealing a large sum of money but no evidence was ever found, nor was the money.
For several months, I lived with her in her prison cell while she nursed me. Then, I was moved to a mother and baby home, awaiting placement.
But no one ever wanted to adopt me.
When I was three, my mother passed away. I can’t even remember her face.
After her death, I was transferred to an orphanage.
I try to forget life there.
Yet, there is one moment I revisit time and again.
My First True New Year’s Eve
I was seven when a family invited me to spend New Year’s Eve with them.
I didn’t know why they chose to invite me. Maybe they felt pity, or perhaps they wanted to do a good deed for the holiday.
At that moment, I didn’t think about it.
I felt as though I had stepped into a fairy tale.
Prior to that, I had never seen Father Christmas. I had never watched television. I had never eaten so many sweets.
They fed me at the festive table, and then they tucked me in for the night.
But at midnight, they woke me up.
“Come here,” said the hostess, leading me into the living room.
I stood frozen in the doorway.
Before me was an enormous Christmas tree, adorned with countless garlands and ornaments. It sparkled and glimmered in all colors, appearing magical to me.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.
I felt as if I were one of the children from an enchanting story, witnessing the wonder for the first time.
Then something even more incredible happened.
The door opened, and in walked Father Christmas himself.
He smiled at me, reached into his bag, and said:
“This is for you.”
I received my very first Christmas gift – a toy, a warm woolly scarf, and mittens.
I was overjoyed.
Return to Reality
In the morning, the magic lingered.
I enjoyed sweets, watched as the family exchanged gifts, and listened to festive songs on the television.
I felt as though I belonged to this world.
But as evening drew near, I was taken back to the orphanage.
Once again, I found myself amongst the cold walls, surrounded by children for whom no gifts arrived, and caretakers weary of our commotion.
Yet, I was different now.
I understood that there existed another world. A world where happiness dwelled.
Years Passed…
Now I am an adult. I have a family and two wonderful sons.
But New Year’s will forever remain the most significant holiday for me.
Each year, I buy a Christmas tree. The biggest one. Perhaps because I want to recreate that moment when I first beheld such magic.
I still treasure the red scarf that Father Christmas gifted me that night.
An Unanswered Question
My father never sought me out. Not once did he try to find out what had become of me.
I think of my mother with warmth.
In my heart, I always refer to her as the Blessed Virgin.
And I cannot help but wonder: was she at fault?
Or was she simply a victim of someone else’s sins?
