The shoeshine boy

It was a day in the year 1945 at two o'clock in the afternoon. Two days before Christmas night. I remember that my mother told me, "Take a shower and get dressed; you have to go to the barber," and I did.

I arrived at the barbershop and greeted Artai as always, with deference. He was the only person I knew who cut your hair with a sharp razor and also doused your hair with water from an ancient artifact. Artai was the only one who had cut my hair in my entire short life. Immediately, when he saw me, he said to me: "You have to wait a bit, there are four customers before you, sit down in the chair in the corner, the one near the entrance."

From there, I could see the shoeshine, another boy like me, who always was there kneeling at the entrance. With his wooden box with a kind of template, where customers placed their shoes. Inside the box were the brush, the cloths, and a small box with the shoe paste, black or brown,  to clean and polish the shoes.

I had always admired him. I mean the boy. I thought he was a big boy because he worked. How confused I was! This time I approached him, when he was resting for a moment, and asked him: "What gift have you asked the Child Jesus?" He looked up, saw me with eyes of disbelief, but he didn't respond instantly.

At that moment, Artai called me, saying, "Okay, come and sit in my barber chair." He lifted the chair a bit, stepping on the pedal on the floor, reached for his water spray, pressed the knob, and sprayed my hair. He took out his sharp razor and began to work. He finished in a few minutes and then, saying, "Greetings to your father and Merry Christmas."

I got up, ready to go home. When I was walking through the door of the barbershop, I heard the boy saying to me, in a sweet but sure voice: "You kind of don't know that Child Jesus doesn't exist. Who gives you the gifts, simply, is your father or your mother; if you have them?".

I walked quickly home, confused and sad!