Skip to content
Call Us Today! 212-533-4646 | MON-FRI 12PM - 4PM (EST)
DONATE
SUBSCRIBE
Search for:
About Us
UNWLA 100
Publications
FAQ
Annual Report 2024
Annual Report 2023
Annual Report 2022
Annual Report 2021
Initiatives
Advocate
Educate
Cultivate
Care
News
Newsletters
Sign Up For Our Newsletter
Join UNWLA
Become a Member
Volunteer With Us
Donate to UNWLA
Members Portal
Shop to Support Ukraine
Search for:
Print
Print Page
Download
Download Page
Download Right Page
Open
1
2-3
4-5
6-7
8-9
10-11
12-13
14-15
16-17
18-19
20-21
22-23
24-25
26-27
28-29
30-31
32-33
34-35
36-37
38-39
40
THE SAINT NICHOLAS THAT WASNT by ANNA KRAWCZUK Honorary President, UNWLA December 1942, Balyhorod, Poland. I am six years old and returning from school. As I pass the Hladyshowsky's house, Mrs. Hladyshowsky calls to me and asks me to come in. I know her; she is my mother's friend, so I enter. She gives me a small box and tells me that St. Nicholas made a mistake and left the gift for me at her house. He probably got lost or something, she says. The box does have my name on it and I gladly accept. The present from St. Nicholas means I must have been good even though I knew 1 sometimes wasn't. I open the box and find a beautiful fountain pen inside. And I was happy. How I had wanted to own a pen and to really write. And now I had one even though it had been left for me at the wrong house. I skipped joyfully all the way home and could not stop wondering how St. Nicholas could have made such a mistake. But I really did not care for I believed in him. * * * Erfurt, Germany, 1944. World War II is raging. I am eight years old, my sister Taissa is sixteen, and my sister Maria is almost six. Our widowed mother is putting in another twelve hour shift of forced labor at the factory in the labor camp. She works nights. Taissa is our mother for the day. But there are times when Maria and I are completely alone. As the feast of St. Nicholas approaches, Maria and I expect that St. Nicholas will reward us for being good children by leaving gifts under our pillows. Before December 19th, I notice my mother and Taissa talking in hushed voices and know they must have some secret. One day I pretend to be sleeping for I want to know what is going on. I see that they are making a doll from whatever pieces of cloth they can get. I hear them discussing it. This will be a gift for Maria; she is the youngest and she is so small. All of a sudden I realize that St. Nicholas is not real and I want to participate with my mother and Taissa in making his feast day a great day for our little sister. They realize that I am not asleep and that I have overheard them. I am invited to join them. My mother explains about St. Nicholas -- he is well and is still rewarding children throughout the world for being good. But this is wartime and he cannot make it through the airplanes and the bombs that by now are falling almost every day. So we must help him. I listen to the life story of Bishop Nicholas of Greece who lived so many years ago, about his love and concern for the poor, especially children. I know that he is not alive. So he cannot be. He is not. At that moment I make a promise to myself that if and when I have children of my own, I will not place gifts under their pillows on St. Nicholas Day. * * * Elizabeth, New Jersey, December 15, 1970. My husband and I are delighted. Our son Myron is bom, almost on St. Nicholas Day, or rather between St. Nicholas Days, for by the new calendar in our adopted country it falls on December 6th, but by the old Gregorian calendar it is on December 19th. I remember the promise I made to myself so many years ago. And I keep it. No gifts under the pillow. But at St. John's School there is a big St. Nicholas celebration and I bring Myron. He is delighted with the present given to him by St. Nicholas who is on the stage with the angels who are his helpers in distributing the gifts. He is six years old and he is happy. He believes in St. Nicholas. And rightfully so. * * * December 1978. It is almost a month that I am at St. Barnabas Hospital in Livingston, New Jersey. On December 7th I wake up and feel something hard under my pillow. As I reach for it, a nurse mns in and tells me that she was told to tell me that St. Nicholas was here during the night and has left me a present. She watches me open the box of goodies — chocolates, nuts, candies. I offer some to her and she thanks me and giggles. Then, in a serious tone, she asks, "Is it really your religion to put gifts under a pillow? Why?" I think back to 1944. Oh, yes, I tell her. Sure, it is my religion, but you must tell me who sent you here with these goodies. She does not know the name, but describes the person carefully and soon I know it was my dear friend Ksenia Hapij playing the role of St. Nicholas. And I believe again in St. Nicholas, for he lives in the hearts of good people. 20 НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ГРУДЕНЬ 1999 Видання C оюзу Українок A мерики - перевидано в електронному форматі в 2012 році . A рхів C У A - Ню Йорк , Н . Й . C Ш A.
Page load link
Go to Top
1 
2-3 
4-5 
6-7 
8-9 
10-11 
12-13 
14-15 
16-17 
18-19 
20-21 
22-23 
24-25 
26-27 
28-29 
30-31 
32-33 
34-35 
36-37 
38-39 
40 
