t was snowing. Pensive, I was loo-

king through the window in the room of my great-grandmother. Grandmother was rocking in the wicker chair and doing crochet tablecloth. Bored with silence,

I said:

‒ Grandma, Grandma, tell me some-

thing from your childhood.

Grandma then put her knitting do-

wn. We both sat down near the furnace and the story began. It was a story from the life of my great-grandmother.

‒ Dear granddaughter ‒ she said ‒ We used to play quite differently in win-

ter than you do today.

‒ For example, how? ‒ I asked.

‒ Oh, oh, oh. You are asking how?

And if I tell you that we would take off our school shoes and socks and slide ba-

refoot in front of the house, would you believe me?

‒ Really? Why couldn't you slide in shoes or skates? ‒ I asked.

‒ Our parents could not afford ska-

tes. We had to care for our shoes, we on-

ly had three pairs. We were wearing sho-

es only to school, on Sundays and during holidays ‒ she said, then added:

‒ When our feet got cold, we would go home and put our feet in front of the fireplace to warm them up. Later, we wo-

uld go sliding again. Unfortunately, our childhood wasn't so colorful. I had three sisters, younger Ada and Angela and older than me, Paula. Mother orphaned

us early and so my dad remarried. Step-

mother had three sons: Adam, Jack and Michael. Thus, in the house there were quite a few of us.

Seven pairs of children's feet could be heard every morning. Our stepmother pretended to be nice only in father's pre-

sence. When he would leave, she was showing her true nature. The worst was

on St. Nicholas' Day. Us, the girls and the boys, would put mugs outside of the door and wait for presents.

‒ Why mugs? ‒ I asked.

‒ Actually, I do not know, that was the tradition. But let’s get back to the story. Since our stepmother came, we always got raw potatoes, but the boys ‒ sweets and toys. Paula finally could not

stand it. She said to me, Ada and Angela:

‒ Girls, listen: this is not Santa Claus who gave us these potatoes, it's her! From now on, we do not put our mugs out.

‒ And so we did.

‒ So you never received a true pre-

sent? I feel sorry for you, Grandma ‒

I said.

‒ No need, my granddaughter. In the end I got it. Your dad put it under my pillow while I was asleep, then he went to work. When he returned, he found me crying.

‒ Grandma, why were you crying? ‒ I asked.

‒ Because I never got a present from Santa Claus. I told him the same

story as I am telling you now.

‒ Well ‒ I said while looking at the window ‒ my dad is unique.

The next day I asked my great-gran-

dmother:

‒ What was that gift?

‒ Didn't I say? ‒ she was surprised.

‒ No, you didn't ‒ I said.

‒ So it was... clips for hanging laun-

dry, two oranges and some sweets.

‒ What? Laundry clips, oranges? ‒

I was just shocked.

‒ Granddaughter, when your dad was a child, there was no packages un-

der the Christmas tree. Your dad would get only presents with a small toy in

a transparent plastic bag. The boys wo-

uld sometimes get a rod made from

birch twigs. Oranges were only on St. Ni-

cholas' Day. Found in a package under the pillow, they were announcing the up-

coming holidays, when the whole family was coming to me for Christmas Eve dinner.

‒ Actually ‒ she said ‒ my adult grandson gave me his good childhood memories.

Warsaw,

January 2017

The End.