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. 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 had the right to refuse it if they don’t like the location or don’t want to live in a particular neighborhood. If they refused it 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 in July 1969 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 while living in the Jungle
Over the years my mother would acquire a few more possessions, but not many. I only remember her ever making two what you would call expensive purchases. She bought a big console Viking Hi-Fi stereo so she could now stack her JW record albums and have them play for hours upon hours. It seemed like there was always Kingdom Hall music playing inside our apartment. Her other purchase would be a reclining chair. Both of these 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 in one of the Jungle senior apartments. 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 when I got home from school.
My mother was always saying that we had the necessities and that was what was most important to her. We never went hungry, we had clean clothes and we always had 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, but he had no hockey tickets and got some kind of toy instead.
“Put everything back in the boxes.” My mother the Grinch immediately said in her stern voice.
“We don’t celebrate Christmas, I am sending the boxes back.” She added.
I was literally crushed. Here 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 same 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 out from the Jungle. While I lived in the Lawrence Heights neighborhood I would never have even 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. 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 had the right to refuse it if they don’t like the location or don’t want to live in a particular neighborhood. If they refused it 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 in July 1969 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 while living in the Jungle
Our rent was based on my mother’s income. In addition to her monthly mother’s allowance welfare cheque, she worked part-time at Eaton’s in the Yorkdale Mall. The rental office was located right in our 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 where both parents were still together while living in a three or four bedroom townhouse. The father worked and the mother stayed at home with the young children. I knew many families with six or seven children who were 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 to make ends meet and that is why they were living 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 that he fathered live on welfare rather than pay any child support. I don't know how my deadbeat father could even sleep at night knowing his two sons were now bona fide 'white trash' Jungle bunnies.
As time passed my mother became much more immersed in her religion and with so many other 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 around the same age as me and my brother who we were allowed to play with. My mother always forbid us to ever play with any ‘worldly’ non Witness kids and I experienced her wrath on many occasions when I got caught breaking that commandment.
The Jungle basically had two demographics. The first was mostly larger families where both parents were still together while living in a three or four bedroom townhouse. The father worked and the mother stayed at home with the young children. I knew many families with six or seven children who were 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 to make ends meet and that is why they were living 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 that he fathered live on welfare rather than pay any child support. I don't know how my deadbeat father could even sleep at night knowing his two sons were now bona fide 'white trash' Jungle bunnies.
As time passed my mother became much more immersed in her religion and with so many other 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 around the same age as me and my brother who we were allowed to play with. My mother always forbid us to ever play with any ‘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 many. I only remember her ever making two what you would call expensive purchases. She bought a big console Viking Hi-Fi stereo so she could now stack her JW record albums and have them play for hours upon hours. It seemed like there was always Kingdom Hall music playing inside our apartment. Her other purchase would be a reclining chair. Both of these 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 in one of the Jungle senior apartments. 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 when I got home from school.
After 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. During the decade we lived in the Jungle she repainted our 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 self-pity was always reserved for them.
My mother was always saying that we had the necessities and that was what was most important to her. We never went hungry, we had clean clothes and we always had 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, but he had no hockey tickets and got some kind of toy instead.
“Put everything back in the boxes.” My mother the Grinch immediately said in her stern voice.
“We don’t celebrate Christmas, I am sending the boxes back.” She added.
I was literally crushed. Here 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 same 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 out from the Jungle. While I lived in the Lawrence Heights neighborhood I would never have even 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.
