When I was a little girl, in the third grade, I wrote a letter to the editor of the Bangor Daily News. I grew up in a single-parent home and was the older of two children; I was about 8 and my little sister was 4.

While out and about shopping for Christmas gifts, I saw a doll that I thought was wonderful. She was cute and she talked and I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more for Christmas. The problem was that she cost more than $100. That was, and still is, too much money to spend on a doll in our family. If we were to spend that kind of money on a toy then we would have to give up in other areas like food and gas.

Even at my young age, I understood what that meant for my family. I remember being upset at the toy companies for making these toys so expensive. So I wrote a letter saying that if my mom couldn’t afford this doll for me, then how could I ask Santa, with all of the other children he had to provide gifts to? With my 8-year-old mentality, I actually felt pretty bad for Santa; what if every little girl asked for a Heather Doll for Christmas? So I put the idea of my Heather Doll out of my head.

About two weeks before Christmas, my sister and I sat playing on the floor about ready to head to bed when there was a knock at our door. My mother answered it to find two women holding packages. One of the women told my mom that the gifts were for me and my sister and not to open them until Christmas. As quickly as she had come she was gone.

After they left my sister and I begged our mom to let us open the presents until she finally caved in. I opened mine and there she was, my Heather Doll, mine; I was actually holding her in my arms! I was so proud of that doll. My little sister opened her package to find a lifelike baby doll with a heartbeat that felt and sounded real. We were in seventh heaven, as mom sat and cried.

I think part of the reason she was crying was because she wasn’t able to give us these gifts on her own and the other part was because she was so overcome with the kindness of a perfect stranger. After that night I wrote another letter to the editor to thank our fairy godmother (the name signed on our beloved packages). I never found out her name or saw her on the street.

I am 25 years old now and married with a son of my own. I have thought about my fairy godmother and her kindness every year at this time. I don’t know if she ever thinks about that night or what kind of an impact she may have had on that little girl and her family 17 years ago. It is because of her and her kindness that I take a tag off of one of the angel trees around town each year and buy a gift for a child who, for whatever reason, may not have any presents under their tree. I am writing this in hopes that each person who reads it might go and take a tag from the tree at the Wal-Mart or local church and do the same thing.

I hope my fairy godmother is still reading these letters. I thought it would make her feel good to know that after a few years of enjoying my Heather Doll, I lovingly put her in a box for children who might not have a toy for Christmas. I hope that whoever the little girl was who got her loved her as much as I did. As for the baby doll that was given to my sister, Toby is still a part of our family, only now he has become a beloved doll of our children. God bless you!

April Cormier Cottle lives in Bangor.