Andrew James
Andrew James
It’s been said that Christmas is the season of miracles. Foremost among the latter is the miracle of the Christ child’s birth. The Immaculate Conception. How about the “Miracle on 34th Street,” that 1947 flick starring Maureen O’Hara, John Payne, the unforgettable Edmund Gwenn as ole St. Nick and Natalie Wood as the young child. Send for it on Netflix, gather the family together and pass the popcorn. Then there’s the miracle, or rather miracles, of 2020. Five year-old Jamie and his sister Annmarie, aged 4, (pseudonyms for obvious reasons), were really looking forward to Christmas and a visit from the bearded man in red who, they hoped, would bring each coloring books, crayons and puzzles along with a car for him and doll for her. But the chances of that happening were slim to none. Their single mother was unemployed, and while she did her best and showered them with love, her kids were lacking in those material possessions commonplace amo