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The Night Before Christmas I didn’t notice Kevion Booty the first time I visited Diamond Creek. He was sitting quietly at a table, reading. The second time around was a little different. “I want to show you something,” he said, and pulled a typed piece of paper from a folder. “It’s a poem.” “A good poem,” I thought. “Who wrote it?” He said he did and pulled out another. “I love poems,” I told him. “That’s what got me started as a writer.” His face lit up. “Then you’ve gotta see something.” Kevion jumped off his chair and ran to a small book shelf next to the popcorn machine at the Diamond Creek Club House. He hopped back on the chair and opened to page one. Tanasha Williams, another child in the after-school program, took the book from his hands and read out loud. “’Twas the night before Christmas, When all through the house Not a creature was stirring Not even a mouse.” “The Night Before Christmas, by Clement Clark Moore,” I mumbled. “It was my favorite.” I remembered what Adrian Blackwell, site coordinator, said a few weeks earlier. “The most common thing these kids are asking for (as Christmas presents) are books. “Not so much toys or anything else.” There are future writers and lawyers and teachers at Diamond Creek. I should know. My own dreams were born from books. Kevion’s, I think, were born The Night Before Christmas.
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