In the fall of 1991, my six-year old daughter, Breezy, and I moved back to Lockhart from Dallas. I had been out of work for a few months and, though I was now working, it was going to be a lean Christmas. My grandparents sent me a Christmas card and a check for $50 with a note to “Spend this on you. Do not pay bills with it.” Shortly thereafter, Breezy, confided in me that she was concerned about her dad. He was homeless and she worried about his being alone and cold at Christmas. I thought the best way to allay Breezy’s concerns was to show her that there are good people who are willing to help those less fortunate than themselves. Just as we could help some other child’s daddy here, somebody else could help her daddy wherever he is. That was when I knew exactly how to use the $50 gift from Granddaddy and Buela.

  The next day, I called HOBO’s (Helping Our Brothers Out), which was located in the Warehouse District of Austin, and asked if they needed blankets. They said they would love to have some extra blankets for their clients. So I told them I would be there the next day (the Saturday before Christmas). That evening, I went to the Lockhart Wal-Mart and purchased eight blankets.

  Early Saturday morning, I loaded the two big bags of blankets into my car. Breezy and I donned our Santa hats, and we headed to Austin. After driving around the deserted Warehouse District a couple of times, I decided to park and look for the place on foot. Breezy and I climbed out of the car; I took the two bags of blankets in one hand and Breezy’s hand in my other hand; and off we went. We walked around the corner and I could see HOBO’s just two blocks up the street.

  The roads were deserted except for one man leaning against a light pole. He had an orange that he kept tossing into the air. As we approached, he asked if I was the lady with the blankets. When I said that I was, he stopped tossing the orange and asked if he could have one.

  I said, “Sure!” I let go of Breezy’s hand and bent over to place the bags on the ground and fish out a blanket for him. When I stood back up – just seconds later – we were completely surrounded by homeless men. Moments before, there was but one man on the street and now there were more than 20 men clamoring for blankets – and we only had eight to give. We were literally being swallowed up by a throng of people. It was absolutely frightening. I grabbed Breezy and forcibly backed us out of the crowd.

  I took her by the hand and we started run-walking back to our car as the men sorted out who would get a blanket. My heart was pounding in my chest as I was chastising myself for foolishly putting her in danger like that. We had put some distance between ourselves and HOBO’s when I realized that Breezy was quietly crying. I stopped and kneeled down on the sidewalk in front of her to try and comfort her. Before I could say anything, she looked up at me with her sweet little tear-stained face and said, “Mommy, that was the best part of my Christmas.” Of course, I cried. I still get choked up whenever I tell that story. I hugged her, and hand-in-hand we walked quietly back to our car. As we drove past HOBO’s, I noticed that once again, the only person on the street was the man with the orange. He waved and cheerfully yelled, “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”