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It’s my favorite Christmas tradition. Every year a group of friends and I “adopt†residents in our community who are overcoming drug and alcohol addictions. They are chronically homeless people who now—after many tough years—have their own apartments. It’s a unique program aimed at breaking the cycle of homelessness in our city by giving people apartments rent-free as long as they stay off drugs and earn an income.
To show our support of these men and women, we each select a name and fulfill the items on their Christmas wish list. They don’t ask for iPods or cashmere sweaters. They ask for cleaning supplies and socks. We try hard to give them what they want since our presents may be the only ones they receive. But sometimes we miss the mark.
Last year my friend Jennie picked Illya as her gift recipient. Illya asked for a winter coat, a scarf and laundry detergent. Anxious to make it an extra special Christmas for Illya, Jennie went to a local discount store and bought a beautiful purple coat, complete with fur trim. She excitedly purchased a matching hat, scarf and gloves. Jennie was so full of the holiday spirit that she bought Illya some beautiful flowered tops. When the time came to distribute our gifts we all discovered Jennie’s error—Illya was a man. She quickly apologized, honestly admitting to her gender mix-up. Illya got his laundry detergent and later that day—after Jennie made some new purchases—a man’s winter coat and scarf.
Then there was Angela who politely asked for a sweat suit and a TV with the words “if possible, used will be gladly accepted†behind her request. My friends Emily and James selected Angela because they had an old TV they were willing to part with. Emily carefully picked out a sweat suit for Angela, never having met her. When the day came to deliver our gifts Angela was dressed in what had likely become her daily uniform; head-to-toe black, her feet covered in big, heavy boots. If you can imagine Paris Hilton’s opposite—Angela was it.
She opened her used television and yelped for joy, throwing her hands in the air as if she had just crossed a finish line in first place. Then she slowly unwrapped her second gift, and pulled out a hot pink velour sweat suit. Although the words remained unspoken, everyone in the room doubted whether Angela had donned anything pink since being a baby in the hospital delivery room. Even so, she was grateful for the gift and said she would wear it while watching television. (Most likely while home alone with the door locked as a last resort when all of her other clothes are in the laundry basket.) Next year we’ll know better: Illya is a man and maybe Angela would prefer to pick out her own sweat suit.
By Alison Storm
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