Not Naughty or Nice

This essay was written as part of an exercise that I do daily, prompted by Summer Brennan's Five Things.

I always thought of my uncle as Father Christmas.

When I was a child, he always came bearing gifts, not because I was naughty or nice, but because he was in the spirit of giving.

When I was older, and my parents denied me further education, he intervened and paid for my baking school courses. He also gave me a place to stay whenever I needed one, and was always there to talk to. He had books he would share with me, and he never stopped me from reaching for one that I was "too young to understand".

When he died of lung cancer detected too late to give him a chance to survive, I was devastated.