Dean Wong

My family would sometimes buy a small Christmas tree when I was growing up. It was never a fancy tree. The branches would be uneven, the shape somewhat out of control, but it was a Christmas tree. A few lights and ornaments made it look joyful.

I was just a little boy and the storefront space my family lived in on King Street did not have a fireplace. I wanted to believe in Santa and read all the stories about his reindeer, delivering presents to kids on his sled. Since we did not have chimney, I always wondered if Santa would make it to my home.

My mother ran a small laundry in Chinatown. My father worked as a cook in a restaurant. When I was eleven years old, my father died. This left my mother to raise four kids by herself. I was the youngest.

We had an aunt from San Diego, who would often visit. Each time she would bring us toys. Her visits during Christmas were especially fun and something to look forward to.

With four children and no husband, my mother ran a tight household. After the bills were paid and groceries purchased, there wasn't much money for things like presents.

She sacrificed for her children. While her two sons and two daughters selected the legs, breast and wings from the plate of chicken, my mother would pick on the bony pieces and fill up on white rice with vegetables.

Often times we'd open our gifts and inside would be clothing my mother made by hand. Her seamstress skills were a big part of her laundry business and something she learned as a teenager in China.

Christmas also meant that the New Year was just around the corner. My mother would put tangerines and oranges in each room of the house to bring us good luck.

On New Year's Eve, she would roast a whole chicken, complete with the head and feet on it. This was important in Chinese culture to have the whole bird for ceremonies.

The platter would include barbecued pork, oranges, red envelopes filled with money and burning incense. She placed this at the backdoor. The family would bow three times with our hands clasped together. Then she said a few prayers for our father in heaven and to bring us good fortune.

After we moved out of Chinatown and bought a house on Beacon Hill, our Christmas celebrations became a little more mainstream. The children in the family were growing up and we became more Americanized. We had a little more money to exchange presents.

My mother was always frugal. She worked six-days a week for 35-years cleaning, pressing and altering other peoples clothes to save the money to raise her family, buy a house and send her kids through college.

In her later years, my mother gave us socks as presents. Sometimes they'd be irregulars with the Nike embroidered labels faintly visible. For a long time, none of the grown up kids would have to buy socks thanks to mom.

My mother is now 94 years old, confined to a wheel chair and lives in the Kin On Health Care Facility, a non-profit nursing home for Chinese elders.

With her memory ravaged by Alzheimer's disease and recognition of her own children diminishing, the family does its best to maintain a connection to my mother.

The nursing home is decorated for the holidays. The Christmas tree is brightly lit and brings warmth and comfort to my mother's new home.

As children, my family did not always get want the toys we wanted. The gifts were simple and functional. Something to keep us warm, made by my mother's hands.

I will always remember something she always told me. "Your stomach may be empty, but if your clothes are nice, people will think you are doing well."

Today, it doesn't matter that my mother may sometimes forget who I am. It makes it more important for my family to celebrate each day like it is Christmas, as long as our mother is with us.