12/14/2025
When Christmas Was Winter
It was Christmas, and I was coming off what felt like the best year of my young, eight-year-old life.
My sister and I had been brought to the United States to live with my mom and stepdad, in the first home I would ever call my own.
The beatings from my grandmother had stopped.
The ache of being separated from my mom was finally gone.
We were together — my sister, my half-brothers — a family.
The year before, Christmas had been beautiful.
Then came this Christmas morning.
The house was dark.
Cold.
And my parents weren’t coming out of their bedroom.
We waited. 7am, 8am, ..10..finally 11 am.
No presents — but that wasn’t what hurt most. I had grown up without birthdays and Christmas gifts. I didn’t expect them.
What hurt me wasn't the lack of presents but the absence of my parent's presence
The confusion.
Not knowing what was going on.
Later, I learned the truth.
My parents owned a small store in North Philadelphia — a rough area.
It kept getting broken into.
The most recent time, thieves climbed onto the roof and came in through the ceiling.
My stepfather already kept two guns under the counter.
They were overwhelmed and afraid.
They had to close the store.
That store was our lifeline — it had paid for the house, brought us together as a family, and made the Christmas before possible.
Without it, they were suddenly in serious financial trouble.
Neither of them had much education.
The future was uncertain.
What hurt me most wasn’t the lack of money.
It was that no one told us.
I was young, but I wanted us to face it together.
I wanted honesty. Connection. A sense that even if things were hard, we were still a family.
That didn’t happen — and it left a mark.
So why do I share this story as we approach Christmas?
My family had a pretty hard christmas when my parents needed to close a store that was their only source of income. The hard part wasn't not having presents but not having my parents presence,