When we were growing up, my dad would take us, one by one when we reached a certain age, out to deliver presents his Rotary club had collected for a family in need.
After we'd get done dispersing the gifts, when the warm, fuzzy feeling was still within us, he'd hand us "The Santa Letter."
The letter has been preserved for eternity in a book we had made for my dad's 75th birthday, but it essentially blows the lid off the Santa gig. "He's inside each of us," my dad wrote and, in his frugal Depression-era ways, it was the same actual letter he used for all three of us. By the time it got to me, it was worn and tattered.
By that point in my life, and because I had two older siblings, I knew the truth about Santa, but I wasn't about to admit it. I was afraid it would cut into my haul of gifts.
But it didn't. Santa, because he's inside of each of us, still comes through every year.
And this year it was my turn to help him out.
We ran a story about letters to Santa the Sunday before Christmas. When we first thought of the idea, we thought it would be cute and fun, with little kids' misspellings and wishes for G.I. Joes and Barbies.
We got letters like that. But we also got Austin's letter:
"Dear Santa, if you have time can bring us some food so my mom can not go to the food bank all the time?"
A cute, fun story suddenly became a heartbreaker.
The day after it ran, I got an early-morning phone call from a woman with a lovely Irish brogue. "I've got some money for Austin. Please see that he gets it.
"I just have to do something," she said. "My grandkids are coming over and we're going to be very busy the new few days so my husband's going to drop the money off today."
I never saw the husband. A card appeared in my mailbox with a wad of $20 bills.
I got hold of Austin's mom and we arranged to meet at a halfway point, so neither of us would have to drive too far in a blizzard. "I have a blue station wagon with a cracked windshield," she said. She didn't mention her huge, powder-blue eyes.
Austin has three older siblings and a chronic disease. "He grew up fast," his mom said. He celebrated his 12th birthday Sunday.
Austin's dad works all the time, driving a snowplow this season, making enough money so the family doesn't meet the criteria for many social services, but not enough to really support a family of six.
"We don't get food stamps," Austin's mom said. "Austin gets disability but between that and my husband's income, it means my disability went down to $64 a month."
She said she's grateful Medicaid covers much of their health-care costs, from Austin's seven medications to her numerous appointments for a back condition.
The Irish woman didn't want to be thanked. "Tell her to pass it on someday. It doesn't have to be money. Maybe she can help an elderly person."
Austin's mom said she will. In the meantime, she has the card that came with the money.
It's signed, "Love, Santa."
Jodee Taylor can be reached at jtaylor@record-eagle.com.
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