Billie Walter

During the eight years that I lived in the Children’s Home, I would usually see my dad twice a year. It was usually a week around Christmas time and then for a week during the summer. I always looked forward to these times. I didn’t see my dad much but he was still the center of my world.

On occasion, my dad would call and let the Children’s Home know that he wouldn’t be able to make it. I was always devastated. When this happened, the Children’s Home would arrange with a family in the community to take over those responsibilities. It was usually a family associated with the church.

I was probably fifteen when one of these Christmas’s occurred. I knew that I would be spending a week with an unknown family so I tried to prepare myself emotionally for this visit. When they picked me up, I tried my best to be cheerful and happy. I knew that it was going to be a long week, but I would try my best to keep up the act.

The family that I was staying with had two children. They had a girl who was seven and a boy who was five. They seemed pleasant enough at first, but by the end of the first day, I knew that they had taken me in to babysit their young children while they entertained other family members. Yes, it was going to be a very long week. All that I could think about was how much I missed my dad. I spent a lot of time in the bathroom wiping away the tears and trying to keep my chin up. Soon it would be over and I could go back to the Children’s Home.

When Christmas morning came, I tried my best to be cheerful and grateful. Their children got bikes, toys, books and clothes. I got a pair of slippers. This had been my worst Christmas ever. Being with my dad and getting nothing would have been better. I guess my dad was too busy to see me this year, maybe next year?