a reprint form years back, seems- on it’s surface- sad.

There are a lot of Christmas memories like that, and many of them were emotionally traumatic, at the time.

Unlike a lot of people I know, I was not raised by wolves. My parents had their moments, like all parents, but I got fed, clothed, educated, and beaten rather less often than I deserved, and sent out into the world capable of dealing with the world. And they were decent people, and set a decent example.

So when I remember those moments- the times when we busted our collective asses to rescue someone from their tragedies, or their own stupidity, or their poverty, the only emotion I feel is gratitude. Thankfulness that we had the resources- meager though they might have been- to make a difference in someone’s life.