In 1970, my five brothers, my sister and I lived in the housing projects of Toronto with our parents. My father was a factory worker, and my mother stayed at home. Each year my father would dress up as Santa Claus and go through the streets of the projects sharing joy and candies with the children there. He loved it as much as they did! But around the Christmas in 1970, my father was out of his job and money was tight. In fact, there was no money for Christmas and my parents weren't sure what they'd provide for us. That Christmas Eve, however, as usual, my father left the house dressed as Santa Claus. He knew that even though our Christmas would be hard, he could not disappoint the other kids in the neighborhood.[:,,] As my father left the house and went down the walkway, Santa Claus was walking up, with a great sack full of gifts for us! He said nothing, only smiled a sweet smile at my father, and wished him a Merry Christmas. The happy man handed Dad the sack and walked away down the block. We never knew who the man was and who showed us great kindness on a snowy Christmas night. We do know, however, that without him we would have had nothing under the tree. His kindness gave my parents hope and showed us in a very real way the true meaning of Christmas. Our family has never forgotten this kind stranger. Each year we tell the story of the mysterious Santa Claus and try to repay his gifts by giving gifts to others in need. What happened in 1970?
The author's father was out of work. The author's mother lost her job. They had a little money left for Christmas. They had the worst Christmas in their lives.