A light snow fell around the bus on which I rode that late November afternoon. I had spent the better part of the day visiting a Kriskringlemart in downtown Frankfurt, Germany. Christmas wasn’t a big thing for me. I stopped believing in Santa Claus years before. Over time, Christmas became a time to empty your savings, buying gifts for everyone you knew, even those you didn’t like or those that didn’t deserve presents. Other than two sisters back in the states, I had no one to buy for anyway.

I did miss my sisters though. Barbara and Monica were the only family I had and they were so far away. Before mobile phones, communication with them back in the states was limited. Letter writing and an occasional phone call on MARS, the Military Auxiliary Radio System, were the only means of knowing how my sisters were, or telling them that I was still alive.  I decided that I would use the international postal system to send them gifts.

In 1977, the military shipped packages from Germany to the states. The military had more important things to ship, such as troops, bombs, and expensive furniture for generals, thus Christmas packages were relegated to third-class shipping. For packages to arrive in California by Christmas day, which is where my sisters lived, I needed to post them by November twentieth. That date was the following day, which is why I shopped in Frankfurt that day. Besides gifts for Barbara and Monica, I’d also purchased a few things for myself.

With Glűhwein in my belly and gifts in a shopping bag, I left the market square and walked to the Bahnhof, where I boarded a bus back to the base. Snow started to fall during the forty-minute ride to the front gate. I grabbed the bag, strode off the bus, and walked through security back to my barracks. After removing my coat, hat, and gloves, I opened the bag of gifts, ready to wrap them and prepare them for shipping. Only, they weren’t there. The two gifts I bought for my sisters were missing.

My attempt at reviving my Christmas spirit dwindled. I had no time to buy more gifts, not if I wanted them delivered on time. I sat and tried to think of where I might have lost the presents. Only one place came to mind. The bus. I donned my warm clothes and walked back to the bus stop, hoping for some type of miracle. Perhaps the gifts are still on the seat that I occupied. I’d still have time to wrap them and send them if they are on the bus.

I waited for forty minutes. The snow fell harder and the temperature dropped. At last, I saw the bus coming my way. It stopped and the door opened. In broken German, I began to ask the driver if I could look for my packages. I quickly noticed that he was a different driver, driving a different bus. I knew then that Christmas presents from me would not be delivered that year.

As I turned to walk away, the bus driver said, “Ein moment.”

I turned to look. He grabbed a bag from under his seat. “Eine Dame fand diese im anderen Bus und gab sie dem Busfahrer, der sie mir gab.”

My German was sketchy, but I understood enough to know that a lady found them and he had them. I smiled as I retrieved the bag.

“Frohe Weihnachten.” I said as I walked away.

My belief in Christmas and Santa Claus didn’t grow that day, but my belief in kind people, strangers, and bus drivers did.