When I was about ten or eleven years old, while living at St. Vincent Sarah Fisher Home for Children, Sister Helen had me work with a baby who had a body cast from her hips on down. The baby's name was Christmas. When I asked Sister what had happened to her, she told me her father had thrown her against a wall. I could always count on Sister telling me the truth even when it was hard to hear.
I loved this precious baby as if she were my own. Her skin was dark and her eyes black as marbles. Her smile was endearing and I simply could not understand how a father could do this to his own child. I was glad I had the opportunity to work with her, but like all of my orphaned friends one day she disappeared.
I loved this precious baby as if she were my own. Her skin was dark and her eyes black as marbles. Her smile was endearing and I simply could not understand how a father could do this to his own child. I was glad I had the opportunity to work with her, but like all of my orphaned friends one day she disappeared.
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