Long ago, there was a little girl who lived with her mother, moving from one unstable situation to the next. Her mother often placed her and her siblings in environments that were far from safe or secure. With no sense of where they would end up, what they would eat, or where they would sleep, this young girl was carried along without an understanding of life’s certainties. (Sadly, this story echoes the reality of so many children who grow up in extreme poverty and homelessness.)
As the years passed, this little girl learned to navigate a world without the comfort of holiday traditions, birthdays, or celebrations of childhood milestones. Being the oldest, she became adept at anticipating her family’s needs and bracing herself for each new challenge.
his little girl became the stand-in mom when her siblings needed care, the housekeeper when dishes piled too high, and the cook when there was no one else to prepare meals. She often found herself abandoned with her younger siblings, learning to scrape together whatever she could to meet their basic needs.
Then one day, her mother found a new stepfather who promised stability and support. The family moved into a beautiful home in a family neighborhood, just around the corner from a park where the girl could take her siblings to play. These days felt brighter—she made friends, formed connections, and looked forward to a new baby sibling on the way. Although the family still struggled financially and didn’t always meet social expectations, there was finally a sense of calm. The children could sleep at night and, most of the time, had enough to eat. For the first time, her heart felt the hope of a brighter future.
But as the holidays approached, tension crept back into the home. The fights, the yelling, the punishment of children, and her mother’s tears returned. Gradually, her mother began withdrawing again, slipping back into the neglect that had shaped so much of their lives.
Christmas morning peeked through the bedroom window, where the children were crammed together on the floor, wrapped in mismatched blankets and makeshift pajamas. With excited giggles, they bolted down the stairs, eager to see what Santa had left for them. After all, they had a new family now, and with that came the childhood hope of a brighter tomorrow. They were filled with the imaginary joy that the holidays promise to all children.
But when they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found nothing—no gifts, no stockings, no parents waiting to share in the excitement. Just an empty space where their dreams of a magical Christmas should have been.
The smiles of excitement from children outside filled the air. She could see them playing with their new toys, riding their shiny new bikes, and hear the laughter of happy children echoing through the streets.
When her mother finally awoke, the little girl, filled with innocent hope, asked, “Mom, why didn’t Santa come to visit us?” Her mother’s reply was simple and harsh: “Santa doesn’t come to bad children.”
The little girl searched her memory, trying to recall anything she might have done to make Santa think she was bad. She couldn’t find anything. She never talked back, terrified of the consequences. She kept her room clean because it was the only option. She did the dishes, washed the dog, fed the younger children, walked to school, and did her best every day. What had she done wrong? What made her and her siblings so undeserving that Santa hadn’t come?
As adults, we can rationalize that her mother’s words came from a place of guilt or desperation, a reflection of her inability to provide gifts. But a 10-year-old child can’t understand that. A child already deprived of basic support, love, and nourishment can only internalize it as a sign that she is bad—unworthy of anything good.
So, what does a 10-year-old child do with this? Does she grow up filled with anger, self-hatred, and the belief that she will never be enough? Does she shut down, withdraw from the world, and lose all hope? Does she become bitter, rejecting the childhood joys that are meant to create a sense of self-worth and possibility?
Yes. Yes, all of that happens.
Why share this story?
Why ask a little 10-year-old to relive her childhood trauma?
The answer is simple: Project Hawai’i’s Christmas Wish Program was created so that no child would ever be left out of the joy their hearts deserve at Christmas. Our program is designed to bring the magic of Santa’s wishes to children living in tents, cars, makeshift houses, and broken homes—places where hope is hard to find. Bringing hope to a child with little to believe in is life-changing.
We’ve seen hundreds of stories about how a simple gift can change a child’s mindset and provide them with a moment of joy. But the deeper reason behind this program often goes beyond understanding.
We don’t know what these parents tell their children to explain why Santa hasn’t come. We don’t know what excuses are used to deflect the pain of being forgotten. But we do know that when a child is left out—simply because of poverty—they begin to believe they’re not worthy. When children feel unworthy, they stop trying. But when a child feels valued, when they know they are seen and heard, they don’t understand the concept of not trying or not wishing for what they want. That is what creates success. That belief in themselves is what empowers them to move forward, to dream, and to reach for a future they can claim.
Many might think it’s just a toy, or a special gift—that it doesn’t really matter if the toy isn’t exactly what they asked for. What they may not understand is the profound impact their small act of kindness has on a child who has so little to hold onto. This gift, this Christmas Wish, is the light they’ve been hoping for. These children just want to know they are worth it. They want to feel that they are as deserving as any other child—that they are seen, cared for, and remembered by that magical man who travels the world in one night, delivering joy to billions of children… and doesn’t forget them.
While we may not be able to change the deep self-hatred that this little 10-year-old girl carries, we can use her story to transform the futures of so many others. There’s a saying that those who survive hardship can use their stories to help others do the same. One of my coaches always says, "Your story will be the guidebook to someone who needs it to change their own life."
To me, you are that pebble, that "one thing," that spark of hope they can hold onto as they take the next step forward.
Please have a Merry Christmas, and know that your support—no matter how small—makes a difference. You are changing lives, and you are part of the hope they can carry with them.
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