Real gift at Christmas IT was Christmas Eve, 1881. I was 15 years old and feeling like the world was over for me. I didn't have enough money to buy myself the gift that I had wanted that year. Dad came back in and there was ice in his beard. "You've been by widow   Smith's house recently?" he asked. Widow Smith lived two miles down the road. Her husband died a year ago and left her with three children. "I rode by just today," Dad continued. "Little Jack was out looking for wood  . They must be out of wood, Tom." We filled our sled   high with wood. Then we went to the store and Dad bought some food, and a smaller pair of shoes. I tried to think through what Dad was doing. I knew we didn't have much money, so why was Dad buying _ so many things? We got to the Smith's house and went in. "We brought you a few things, madam," Dad said, and put down the bag of food on the table. Then Dad handed widow Smith the pair of shoes. She bit her lower lip   to keep it from trembling  , and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. My throat seemed to be filled with something, and there were tears in my eyes, too. Just then my dream gift seemed very unimportant. Dad had given me the look on widow Smith's face and the smiles of her three children. He had given me the best Christmas of my life. What did the writer learn from that Christmas?
Helping those in need makes us feel good. Christmas gifts are unimportant for poor people. We should get along with people around us. Being helpful sometimes brings people good luck.