Writes of Winter Non-Fiction Winner: A Red Deer Christmas, 1994
December 19, 2025
Writes of Winter - Christmas Story Contest Winner
One Christmas kindness found us in small moments — from neighbors, teachers, and even classmates — each one a gift all its own.
The season began with an empty corner in our living room. Normally, that spot glowed with our Christmas tree covered in handmade ornaments from friends. But that year, only a tired lamp stood there.
Mom stood looking at the empty space, brushing her hair behind her ear the way she did when she was fighting tears. Dad had been working long hours, trying to make ends meet, but money kept falling short.
I hugged her. “We’ll still have a good Christmas,” I said softly, hoping it would help. She smiled, but I saw the sadness behind it.
We bundled up for school. My little brother’s coat zipper was broken, so Mom pinned it shut. Outside, our boots crunched through the frosty Red Deer streets. My older brother’s boots slapped at the heels with every step — flapping like they were trying to talk to us. We couldn’t help but laugh, our giggles echoing through the crisp morning air.
At school, my teacher asked who already had their Christmas trees up. Hands shot up everywhere. Mine stayed still. He looked over at me, “What about you, Michelle? Do you have your tree up yet?”
I quietly responded, “No tree this year, Mr. Bartel. We couldn’t afford one.”
The class fell silent. Heat rushed to my face — until a voice from the back spoke up with surprising warmth.
“We have an extra tree you can have.”
It was Jeff Ratsky. No pity, no hesitation — just kindness. Something inside me eased.
At recess, a teacher noticed my brother struggling to keep his coat closed. When I explained that the zipper was broken, she said, ‘Bring it to me after recess, I’ll fix it.’
I stood there, surprised by her kindness. I went to thank her, but she simply gave a gentle wave and knowing smile before turning to walk away.
By the end of the day, she handed back the coat with a perfectly sewn zipper. When my brother put it on, his bright, relieved smile felt like a gift of its own.
That evening, Dad picked up the tree Jeff had offered. It was crooked, patchy, and honestly one of the ugliest trees we’d ever seen. But we set it up and decorated it with our treasured handmade ornaments, and when the lights flickered on, that magical feeling of Christmas
filled the room.
On Christmas Eve, after the candlelight service, we returned home to find wrapped gifts beneath our little tree. Our neighbor Ivy had slipped in to leave them while we were gone, creating magic without ever asking for recognition.
That year, kindness came not in grand gestures, but in small, thoughtful moments. Even now, I remember that little, lopsided tree— a reminder that Christmas isn’t about perfection or gifts, but the love and light that fills our homes. That’s a Christmas I will never forget.