My Christmas Story

I had a fabulous Christmas with my husband and family. My spouse’s eyes lit up like candles when he kissed me and said, “Merry Christmas.” My two-and-a-half year old granddaughter spent two hours drawing on the paper tablecloth with me at Christmas Eve lunch. Her impish smile radiated up as she labeled her squiggly circle as a “rock.” These moments made me happy, but my Christmas blazed with joy on December 20 when I helped Youth Homes organize a holiday party for their former foster young adults at Clayton Valley Bowl in Concord.

Youth Homes is a non-profit organization that provides homes for youth who have grown too old to be housed in foster care, but who don’t have enough experience or financial means to live on their own. Most of their youth take daily medication to help regulate anxiety or other emotional conditions resulting from their troubled pasts. Some have been sexually abused. Others are victims of physical violence. Some have experienced homelessness under cold freeway overpasses, and others have lost parents to prison or untimely death.

With my partner from the Alamo Women’s Club, I arrived at Clayton Valley Bowl at 2 p.m. with boxes of gifts and envelopes of gift cards. We wore double masks to ward off any Covid viruses that might be floating around in such a public place and carried the heavy boxes through the glass doors of the building, across the tattered carpet to the back of the dull, cavernous room.

My friend is a miniature five-foot-tall, sixty-five-year-old woman, but she and I pulled ten foot folding tables out of the side hallway and set them up against the dirty white walls to display our gifts. I wet a paper towel in the nearby restroom to clean sticky patches off of two round tables.

On one long table, we arranged knit hats made by the knitting group of our club; they came in every color imaginable, knitted by hand and by looms by senior women who felt good sharing their talents with people who needed them. Next to the hats, we lined up pillow cases made from floral, Christmas, cowboy, leaves, patchwork and other fabric designs. Each youth would get to take home two of these. Beside the pillow cases, we spread out rows of brightly colored placemats, also made by talented women, generous with their money and time. Each youth could choose two of these.

On the second table, we set up an assortment of prizes, such as a George Forman burger grill, little purses, cozy socks, hand knit scarves, gift bags of candies, and make-up kits. Each youth could trade in his or her raffle ticket for one of these.

The manager of Youth Homes arrived just before 3 p.m. and he greeted us with sparkling eyes, a Christmas mask that wrinkled when he smiled, and knuckle handshakes. Slowly, one by one and two by two, the youth arrived with shy faces and quiet demeanors.

Most of the youth seemed to be about eighteen to twenty two years old. They were tall, small, skinny, overweight, light-skinned, dark-skinned, male, female, happy, and sad.

One girl, taller and larger than me, with dark skin and a head of long, black braids, had taken great care with her outfit. She wore fashionably-torn blue jeans, a plain white Tshirt, and a pretty turquoise, brushed-cotton plaid, long-sleeved shirt. I complimented her immediately and guided her to the two round tables so she could first sign the thank you cards for the donors of all the gifts. When she got to the raffle prize table, she chose the George Forman hamburger grill so she could cook hamburgers in her bedroom.

One young man, about five-feet, six-inches tall, messy dark curly hair, and a warm voice chose all of his presents with his mother in mind. For her, he chose a flowered placemat, a pink pillowcase, and a pink hat with a large tassel. The light in his eyes was soft and tender as he picked up a gift bag of candy for Mom at the raffle-prize table.

Another youth showed my partner and I her artistic eye make-up and proudly proclaimed that she was now working as an event planner. “My job requires a lot of creativity,” she said. She signed the donor thank you cards with a large, flamboyant signature.

Also arriving one-by-one, came the counselors, who worked with these youth, guiding them in their daily living and helping them overcome emotional handicaps and the lack of family support. Ed wore blue jeans and a bright blue shirt; his jolly, outgoing, gregarious personality made us feel appreciated and welcome.

Cheyenne remembered me from two of the online college success workshops that she had conducted for the youth from the interior of her car. During these workshops, I taught the youth how college differed from high school and gave them tips for being successful in college. When she recognized me, I really felt part of the Youth Homes family.

Later, I found out that these counselors would have dinner with the youth on Christmas Day and then take them out for a movie so that none of them would be alone on the holiday. I knew I would be spending Christmas with my family, but part of me wanted to tag along with them, doing what I could to show them how much I wished for them to be happy.

For two hours, we guided the young adults through the gift lines, ensuring that they all received hand-made presents. We gave them $50 gift cards from Target or Kohl’s, and we watched the counselors set up bowling teams, bring out boxes of pizza and jugs of soda, and circle among the youth like they were the best of friends.

Finally, we boxed up the remaining beanie hats, pillowcases, placemats, and raffle prizes for the manager to take back to the office for any youth who couldn’t make it. We tucked the left-over gift certificates into the envelope and handed them over for safe keeping. New youth came into the program at any time, and they all needed clothes, personal items, and financial support.

The counselors masks wrinkled into beaming smiles as they wished us a happy holiday. Some of the youth looked up with big eyes from their pizza as we passed by their tables. Others shouted “thank you” and waved. Two of the larger youth continued playing a competitive bowling game, so when both of them bowled a strike back to back, I raised my firsts and yelled, “Alright!”

Christmas was still a few days away, but, this day, this afternoon that I spent in a dim-lighted bowling alley with no manger scene, no Santa Claus, no reindeer, no twinkling lights, became my favorite day of Christmas 2021.