When I came home from the grocery store yesterday I found an envelope taped to my front door. It was blank but sealed. I assumed it was a bill left by my landlord, so I laid it on the coffee table and went to work cooking supper. But about the time the beans came to a simmer curiosity got the better of me.

I retrieved the envelope and sat down in my recliner (I’ve learned that it’s best to be sitting down when I open bills lest I faint away and do myself some manner of bodily injury). However, when I opened it, instead of balances due and debts accrued, I found big bright letters scrawled in a child’s hand.

“Dear Santa,” it said, in waxy red crayon lines, “I have been good this year. I even made the honor roll. Mamma can’t be here for Christmas this year. She got in trouble. If you’re not too busy can you come early? Please bring me a puppy or a pony and a ipad to watch Paw Patrol on. Love, Riley.”

Riley is the 6 year old daughter of the girl who lives next door. A sweet girl, despite her circumstances. Jamie, the mother, can’t seem to kick her drug habit. And that recently got her jammed up with the law. Last week she told me that she had to do a six month stretch for violating the terms of her parole.