Christmas 1940 makes me misty-eyed every time I think about it. I was a high school student in California’s San Joaquin Valley. In the hard times of the era, people depended on one another. We collected food, clothing, bedding and household items and gave them to the needy.
We made new dresses for the dolls, turned wood into trucks and othe toys,and saved the toys we collected fo Christmas.
We had a few more visits to make on Christmas morning. A farmer offered us his truck for deliveries, and we gratefully accepted. For several hours, we knocked on doors. But as the cold hours passed, our enthusiasm gradually faded.When we finally headed home, someone pointed to a small house down a canal bank.
None of us knew who lived there, and we wondered if there were childre, but decided to make one last visit. Mud sucked at our boots, slowing our progress. When we knocked on the door, a young woman answered it. Three small children looked from behind her skirt.
“Merry Christmas," handed the gift-wrapped packages to the children and the box of groceries to the mother, whose eyes widened with amazement. She slowly smiled, then quickly said, “Come in.”