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Show 57 "Who is it from?" our youngest is asking, bouncing up and down with the excitement. "Is this from Santa Claus?" she is wanting to know. She is not yet five years old. As parents, we have neither encouraged nor discouraged the idea of Santa Claus. "It is certainly someone acting like the real St. Nicholas did," Hy is replying, noting the many numbers of gifts for each of us as the children empty the stocking, placing the gifts, one by one, under the tree. There does not appear to be any tag identifying the benefactor. We have been poor for some time now. Hy used to have insurance. All teachers did. But the company had declined to continue to carry us - or more accurately, to carry me - when he changed employment. I am high risk. I am expensive. I am expendable. Medicaid was my only option. That and death. We chose Medicaid. It is that choice that has condemned the entire family to poverty. Nevertheless, we try to consider our situation fortunate. On good days, we compare our condition to much of the world and conclude that what we, in this country, consider "poverty" would in many other places be considered wealth. On lonely days, however, we recognize that the four small and forlorn gifts we would have placed under the tree late this Christmas Eve, one for each child, could have given our children's friends cause to wonder at their North Pole-perceived righteousness. |