A Class Act

by Catherine Granger Glover
North Carolina, USA

For five years in the late 1980s and early 1990s, I supervised a household of eight. Besides my daughter, I had adopted three boys born of my ex-husband’s first marriage. Then there were my two nieces and nephew, staying while their mom left an abusive relationship, and me. We were a mixed family, but full of love and luck.

Each year, we carefully filled out “adopt a family” forms that asked each child’s age, height, weight, favorite color and sports team, and desires. Thanks to various giving organizations, I didn’t have to budget money for holiday dinners.

We often received very nice gifts for each child, but most were clothes or very generic items. My dollars went to finding a special gift for each (usually a thrift store, dollar store, or clearance item) that they would know was purchased just for them.

In 1991, my daughter was seven, and wished for a baby doll more than anything in the world. She knew Santa would bring her a baby doll, carriage, and all the tools to care for her baby. I found an inexpensive umbrella stroller, a cheap doll, and even some clothes and a bottle, but feared they would break quickly. She was thrilled, as were all the kids with their ‘big’ presents.

Then it came time to open the charity gifts. There was more than one for each child, which confused us, but was fun. Each child opened what they expected to be a piece of clothing or a generic dollar-store toy. As the wrappings came off, whoops of pure joy resounded around the room, and I sat in stunned silence.

Each child had received something just for them! My daughter received a wonderful baby doll with a full set of clothes and everything to take care of it — bottles, diapers, bibs, etc. The boys each received a regulation-size ball and a correctly-sized team jersey for their favorite team. My nieces received ‘real’ versions of the items they had asked for. There was even a present for me, a small photo album.

I don’t remember the exact class that adopted us that year, only that it was from Springfield High School in Virginia. We don’t know how they raised the funds to buy the presents, or why they adopted a whole family rather than just contributing gifts to a drive.

I only know that whenever Christmas comes around, I send my thanks out once again for that wonderful year. Sixteen years later, we still speak of the joy that class brought to our whole family. That year, not only were our needs met, but a caring respect for us as individuals was added.

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