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My family and I lived on commodities—canned goods and staples provided by the State of Idaho and the Federal Government. We sat around our kitchen table in Kamiah, Idaho, eating fried luncheon loaf, powdered mashed potatoes, and canned green beans. Dad cleared his throat and announced that Christmas would be low-key this year. He’d lost his job, and the money he received from unemployment was just enough to cover our needs.
My seven-year-old self told him not to worry. I’d write Santa Claus and ask him to bring whatever we needed. He looked at Mom and said Santa Claus couldn’t help. He only brought toys for children, and we shouldn’t expect to get much this year. I still remember the look in their eyes, and I doubted Santa’s existence for the first time in my life.
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