We Don't Celebrate Christmas.
The Toronto Star Santa Clause fund was started back in 1906. The fund raises millions of dollars in the form of donations from both private and corporate donors. All of the money is used to spread holiday cheer among thousands of underprivileged children in the city of Toronto and the surrounding areas. And I too would unknowingly become one of those underprivileged children many Christmases ago.
The Lawrence Heights neighborhood is a subsidized housing project within the city of Toronto. My mother, brother and I moved there back in the summer of 1969 and it would be the first place that truly would be our place. Since my parent's separation we had lived with my grandmother in Willowdale. The three of us all shared a small bedroom in the small house while waiting almost four years for any apartment to become available.
The wait for subsidized housing could take years back in the late 60's. Back then there were easily a dozen housing projects within Toronto, but the demand always exceeded supply. When an apartment was offered to a family they have the right to refuse it if they don’t like the location or don’t want to live in a particular neighborhood. If they refuse for whatever reason they go back to the bottom of the list and their wait starts all over again.
It kind of reminds me of that old saying about beggars can’t be choosers.
There was no doubt; my mother would be accepting the first apartment that became available no matter which housing project we’d be living in. Finally a two-bedroom apartment at 11 Flemington Road would become our new home.
My earliest memory of our new apartment came on my first and only visit before our moving day. It would be my mother gasping at the sight of a cockroach on the kitchen counter. I watched it scurry across the countertop then disappear down behind the stove. That moment would be forever etched in my mind. Up to that day I had never seen a cockroach before during my almost nine years of existence. I would literally see hundreds more over the next nine years.
Lawrence Heights is also known as the Jungle since its completion back in 1962. It quickly acquired a reputation for housing broken families, poverty and crime. The whole area is a large 100 acre densely populated neighborhood. There are approx. 1100 actual units made up of both townhouses, low rise apartment buildings and houses over 6000 residents.
The Allen Road, a major thoroughfare runs right through the center of the Jungle. I would be attending all three of the area schools. The elementary, junior and senior high schools were all within short walking distance from our apartment.
Our rent was based on my mother’s income. In addition to her monthly mother’s allowance cheque, she worked part-time at Eaton’s in the Yorkdale Mall. The rental office was located right in the neighborhood and I can remember dropping off rent cheques for just fifteen bucks many times on my way to school.
The Jungle basically had two demographics. The first was mostly larger families with both parents still together while living in a townhouse. The father worked and the mother stayed at home with the young children. I knew many families with six or seven children living in the Jungle. It would be next to impossible for the father who was usually a general laborer, factory worker or a truck driver to support his large family. They were not on welfare, but they still needed subsidized housing and that is why they lived in Lawrence Heights.
For the most part, the second demographic would be single mothers with kids. In all the years I lived there I never once saw a single father raising his kids. Like most living in one of the twenty low rise apartment buildings, it would best describe the three of us. A single mother struggling, raising a couple kids while living off the system. All the while my deadbeat father saw fit to see the children he fathered struggle. My deadbeat father would rather see his sons live on welfare than pay any child support. I still don't know how my deadbeat father could even sleep at night knowing his sons were now bona fide 'white trash' Jungle bunnies.
As time passed my mother became more immersed in her religion. With so many other Jehovah's Witness families also living in the Jungle, it would truly be a Godsend or should I say a 'Jehovahsend' for her. She now had so many JW friends within walking distance that she could visit; as well they would be regularly visiting us. There were also close to twenty other JW kids all the same age as me and my brother who we were allowed to play with. My mother always forbade us to ever play with ‘worldly’ non-Witness kids and I experienced her wrath on many occasions when I got caught breaking that commandment.
Over the years my mother would acquire a few more possessions, but not that many. I only remember her making two what you would call big purchases. She bought a big console Viking Hi-Fi stereo. She could now stack her JW record albums and have them play for hours upon hours. It seemed like I was forever listening to Kingdom Hall music inside our apartment. Her other purchase would be a reclining chair. Both items she bought years apart at Eaton’s with her staff discount. Other than those two items, mostly everything else was given to us second hand by friends or salvaged right from the garbage.
When I say salvaged from the garbage, I am not kidding. I remember one of her Witness friends had died; she was an elderly lady and lived alone. The family had thrown out her ratty old couch for pickup on garbage day. My mother got wind of it and before I knew it the couch was sitting in our living room.
My mother always said that we had the necessities and that was what was most important to her. We never went hungry, always had clean clothes and a roof over our head.
What else did we need?
Even though we had the necessities, still my brother and myself were now considered underprivileged children. Unknowingly to us we were now on the Toronto Star Santa Clause Fund list. I assume my mother’s social worker had recommended us after one of her interview visits.
I remember the day like it was yesterday.
One afternoon a man with a Santa hat knocked on our door. He handed me two wrapped shoeboxes and wished my brother and me a Merry Christmas. He was gone as fast as he arrived; he had many boxes to be delivered.
I opened the box that had my name on it.
Are you fuck’n kidding me?
Right on the top and lying on a brand new pair of socks was a pair of Toronto Maple Leaf hockey tickets. They were grey seats and I could not contain my excitement as I was so overwhelmed with happiness.
Enter my devout Jehovah's Witness mother about an hour later. If there was anyone who was the supreme killjoy, it would be my mother. I eagerly showed her my tickets, my new socks, a new pair of winter gloves and some candy. My brother had gotten the same in his box also. He had no hockey tickets, but got some kind of toy instead.
“Put everything back in the boxes.” She said immediately in her stern voice.
“We don’t celebrate Christmas, I am sending them back.” She added.
I was literally crushed. I had two tickets to watch the Toronto Maple Leafs play at Maple Leaf Gardens and because of my mother’s fuck’n religious beliefs; I had to give them back. A couple days later the man returned. My mother thanked him for his kindness, but she explained we were Jehovah’s Witnesses and that we did not celebrate Christmas.
It is what it is and I never got a Santa Clause shoebox again.
I would live with my mother and brother in our little apartment at 11 Flemington Road for eleven years and eventually we moved away from the Jungle. While I lived in the Lawrence Heights neighborhood, I would never have considered myself an underprivileged kid. It was not until I got much older and looked back on my childhood when I began to realize just how underprivileged we really were.
Even though we always had the necessities.
The Lawrence Heights neighborhood is a subsidized housing project within the city of Toronto. My mother, brother and I moved there back in the summer of 1969 and it would be the first place that truly would be our place. Since my parent's separation we had lived with my grandmother in Willowdale. The three of us all shared a small bedroom in the small house while waiting almost four years for any apartment to become available.
The wait for subsidized housing could take years back in the late 60's. Back then there were easily a dozen housing projects within Toronto, but the demand always exceeded supply. When an apartment was offered to a family they have the right to refuse it if they don’t like the location or don’t want to live in a particular neighborhood. If they refuse for whatever reason they go back to the bottom of the list and their wait starts all over again.
It kind of reminds me of that old saying about beggars can’t be choosers.
There was no doubt; my mother would be accepting the first apartment that became available no matter which housing project we’d be living in. Finally a two-bedroom apartment at 11 Flemington Road would become our new home.
My earliest memory of our new apartment came on my first and only visit before our moving day. It would be my mother gasping at the sight of a cockroach on the kitchen counter. I watched it scurry across the countertop then disappear down behind the stove. That moment would be forever etched in my mind. Up to that day I had never seen a cockroach before during my almost nine years of existence. I would literally see hundreds more over the next nine years.
Lawrence Heights is also known as the Jungle since its completion back in 1962. It quickly acquired a reputation for housing broken families, poverty and crime. The whole area is a large 100 acre densely populated neighborhood. There are approx. 1100 actual units made up of both townhouses, low rise apartment buildings and houses over 6000 residents.
The Allen Road, a major thoroughfare runs right through the center of the Jungle. I would be attending all three of the area schools. The elementary, junior and senior high schools were all within short walking distance from our apartment.
Our rent was based on my mother’s income. In addition to her monthly mother’s allowance cheque, she worked part-time at Eaton’s in the Yorkdale Mall. The rental office was located right in the neighborhood and I can remember dropping off rent cheques for just fifteen bucks many times on my way to school.
The Jungle basically had two demographics. The first was mostly larger families with both parents still together while living in a townhouse. The father worked and the mother stayed at home with the young children. I knew many families with six or seven children living in the Jungle. It would be next to impossible for the father who was usually a general laborer, factory worker or a truck driver to support his large family. They were not on welfare, but they still needed subsidized housing and that is why they lived in Lawrence Heights.
For the most part, the second demographic would be single mothers with kids. In all the years I lived there I never once saw a single father raising his kids. Like most living in one of the twenty low rise apartment buildings, it would best describe the three of us. A single mother struggling, raising a couple kids while living off the system. All the while my deadbeat father saw fit to see the children he fathered struggle. My deadbeat father would rather see his sons live on welfare than pay any child support. I still don't know how my deadbeat father could even sleep at night knowing his sons were now bona fide 'white trash' Jungle bunnies.
As time passed my mother became more immersed in her religion. With so many other Jehovah's Witness families also living in the Jungle, it would truly be a Godsend or should I say a 'Jehovahsend' for her. She now had so many JW friends within walking distance that she could visit; as well they would be regularly visiting us. There were also close to twenty other JW kids all the same age as me and my brother who we were allowed to play with. My mother always forbade us to ever play with ‘worldly’ non-Witness kids and I experienced her wrath on many occasions when I got caught breaking that commandment.
Over the years my mother would acquire a few more possessions, but not that many. I only remember her making two what you would call big purchases. She bought a big console Viking Hi-Fi stereo. She could now stack her JW record albums and have them play for hours upon hours. It seemed like I was forever listening to Kingdom Hall music inside our apartment. Her other purchase would be a reclining chair. Both items she bought years apart at Eaton’s with her staff discount. Other than those two items, mostly everything else was given to us second hand by friends or salvaged right from the garbage.
When I say salvaged from the garbage, I am not kidding. I remember one of her Witness friends had died; she was an elderly lady and lived alone. The family had thrown out her ratty old couch for pickup on garbage day. My mother got wind of it and before I knew it the couch was sitting in our living room.
A quick trip up to Fabricland and Voila! We now had a ratty old couch with a brand new floral cover.
My mother always had a knack for making old things new again. My brother and I each had a small twin bed with a small dresser. How I managed to sleep so many years in that little bed is still a mystery to me because I was 6’5” back then. Every few years she would repaint them a completely different colour, buy us new bedspreads and Voila! We now had old bedroom furniture painted a different colour. She easily repainted those beds and dressers three maybe four times. I write these things not because I want pity or people to feel sorry for me. Far from it. The little that we did have was still a lot more than many others living in the Jungle ever had. My pity was always reserved for them.
My mother always said that we had the necessities and that was what was most important to her. We never went hungry, always had clean clothes and a roof over our head.
What else did we need?
Even though we had the necessities, still my brother and myself were now considered underprivileged children. Unknowingly to us we were now on the Toronto Star Santa Clause Fund list. I assume my mother’s social worker had recommended us after one of her interview visits.
I remember the day like it was yesterday.
One afternoon a man with a Santa hat knocked on our door. He handed me two wrapped shoeboxes and wished my brother and me a Merry Christmas. He was gone as fast as he arrived; he had many boxes to be delivered.
I opened the box that had my name on it.
Are you fuck’n kidding me?
Right on the top and lying on a brand new pair of socks was a pair of Toronto Maple Leaf hockey tickets. They were grey seats and I could not contain my excitement as I was so overwhelmed with happiness.
Enter my devout Jehovah's Witness mother about an hour later. If there was anyone who was the supreme killjoy, it would be my mother. I eagerly showed her my tickets, my new socks, a new pair of winter gloves and some candy. My brother had gotten the same in his box also. He had no hockey tickets, but got some kind of toy instead.
“Put everything back in the boxes.” She said immediately in her stern voice.
“We don’t celebrate Christmas, I am sending them back.” She added.
I was literally crushed. I had two tickets to watch the Toronto Maple Leafs play at Maple Leaf Gardens and because of my mother’s fuck’n religious beliefs; I had to give them back. A couple days later the man returned. My mother thanked him for his kindness, but she explained we were Jehovah’s Witnesses and that we did not celebrate Christmas.
It is what it is and I never got a Santa Clause shoebox again.
I would live with my mother and brother in our little apartment at 11 Flemington Road for eleven years and eventually we moved away from the Jungle. While I lived in the Lawrence Heights neighborhood, I would never have considered myself an underprivileged kid. It was not until I got much older and looked back on my childhood when I began to realize just how underprivileged we really were.
Even though we always had the necessities.
