No Santa for Carlos

Carlos always had chapped lips. Sometimes, they were so chapped, they bled a little. He was the smallest kid in class -- far smaller than the other middle-schoolers that attended our afterschool program. And he was not only small, but very young. None of that wise-beyond-your-years quality that I had come to expect from Bushwick kids. Carlos liked to jump around, scream a lot and talk about Pokemon.

When Christmas rolled around, Melanie, whom the rest of the kids had appointed special events coordinator, proposed a Secret Santa type of set-up. Seeing as I had barely enough money for my subway card or food, I opted out. Melanie asked if everyone else should be included. I shrugged a "sure, why not?" without lifting an eye off my Village Voice.

"Well, what about Carlos?" Melanie inquired.

"What about Carlos?"

"Do you think he would be interested?"

"You kidding me? You think Carlos would have a problem with receiving a present?"

"No --- my problem is whether or not he'd remember to GIVE a present."

"Oh..." my voice trailed off. Melanie made a good point. Could one depend on Carlos to remember a present? I seriously doubted it. Often, his own mother would forget to pick him up.

"You're right. Better not include him. It would be embarrassing if we were to do this and he was the only one who forgot to bring something."

With the go-ahead, Melanie mobilized her troops and exchanged each others' names. Of the twenty or so students I taught photography and videomaking to each afternoon participated. Everyone except for Carlos.

I thought nothing of this for a while. Until the day of the Christmas party. When everyone showed up with cakes, cookies, soda, chips and a very special, secret package in tow. That's when I started sweating. What had I done? What possessed me to make such a stupid decision to revoke Carlos' privileges to participate? Who cares if he had forgotten to bring a gift? I could have brought something in his place. A super-bouncy ball would have been just fine. Or one of those wool caps they sell outside the station. Heck, a package of M&M's would have made the kids happy. But receiving nothing while others were celebrating something was going to crush Carlos.

I stalled as much as I could. We ate. We talked. And then we ate some more. We played some games. I made up a couple and we played some more. But the clock was ticking and the mob was getting anxious. I relented and they had their way. Nikki handed a package to Vanessa. Vanessa gave her gift bag to Jevon who then gave his box to Francisco. Raymond tossed a small package over to Melanie who handed Freddie a gift. I stood, transfixed on Carlos as his eyes followed the movements of his classmates. I could see the gears turning inside his little skull. It wouldn't be long now... oh, doom time.

Nikki opened up her box of chocolates. Vanessa revealed a pair of pink gloves. Francisco showed off a six-pack of soda. Raymond marveled at his new mechanical pencils. Melanie got headphones and Freddie got a super-bouncy ball.

And then it finally happened.

"Where's my present?" Carlos squeaked.

Most of the kids didn't hear it. But Melanie did and she shot me a look.
I glared back at her and mouthed, "Stop it."

She shot me back a look that said, "What the F do we do now?!"

Oh, why did I have to be the only adult in the room. Why was this happening to me? I wasn't supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be teaching. I'm supposed to be partying with Quentin Tarantino. I'm supposed to be on the cover of a magazine. I'm supposed to be bragging about myself to James Lipton and talking up my next big project. Why am I here instead - feeling like shit for shattering the spirit of an innocent little boy named Carlos who through no fault of his own will not be celebrating Christmas with the other kids in his afterschool class.

"Yay! An extra present!" shouted Francisco.

Were my ears playing tricks on me or did Francisco just say something about an extra present? My eyes darted over to where he was and sure enough, there Francisco stood clutching a boxed collection of cheap cologne and perfume. Francisco didn't know it yet, but I was going to tear that box away from him.

"Francisco! Can I talk to you for a second?" I yelped in the most stern teacher voice I could summon at the moment.

Francisco shuffled over, face still beaming with delight.

"Where did you get the extra present?"

"Samantha was absent so Raymond said I could keep it."

"You think I could give you a dollar for it?"

"A dollar? No thanks. I got a dollar."

"Okay. But you see... I need to have it."

"You? But you don't wear perfume."

I wasn't in the mood to argue, but I had to consider my tactics carefully.
"No, Francisco. I don't. But you see... I've made a big mistake. Carlos doesn't have a present. And it's my fault. And if you help me, I can make it all better and everyone will go home happy today," I reasoned.

Francisco stared down at the box in his arms.

"Man... I was going to give this to my mama."

I stared at Francisco. He stared back at me, then at Carlos, then at the box. He held it a beat more and then without looking at me, handed it over. I bent down and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Francisco, you are a righteous dude."

I quitely made my way over to Melanie and slipped her the package. That's all the sign she needed as she walked over to a tearful Carlos and presented him with the box.

Talk about a frown turned upside down. That boy ripped that box open immediately as he bounced up and down. Seconds later, he was applying that stinky perfume to the back of his ears and all over his neck, running up to all the single ladies and making them take a good whiff. Francisco sulked... for the next five minutes or so before challenging the other boys to a contest to see how many Twinkies they could fit in their mouths at once (he won by a landslide). The girls performed an a-cappella version of TLC's "No Scrubs" and Freddie kissed Nikki who in response threw her bookbag at him.

It was a joyous Christmas that year. They were the first group of students I ever taught and this life lesson was quite a fine Christmas gift that keeps on giving.