“You can open ONE present tonight,” my mother said. “But ONLY one. Since it’s Christmas Eve.”

My feet only touched the ground twice.

I ran to the Christmas tree like a squirrel on illegal stimulants. Our tree was pitiful. Charlie Brown had nothing on us.

Beneath the tree was one, skinny, oblong box with my name on it. I selected this box. I tore the paper.

It was a telescope.

“It’s not much,” Mama said.

I looked at the box. “It’s a telescope.”

Mama smiled. “So you really can read.”

It was a 40mm refractor called a Halleyscope. It must have cost my mother all she had. My mother cleaned condos and threw newspapers for a living.

This was her the coupe de grace of her Christmas bounty. The rest of my gifts would be cans of smoked oysters, jars of mayonnaise, or Haynes underpants.

“I know you like looking at stars,” she said.

It was true. I loved the stars. Every week I watched “Star Gazers” on PBS, hosted by Jack Horkheimer, the Star Hustler. The world’s only weekly television series on naked eye astronomy. Still on the air today. I rarely missed an episode.

I took the telescope into the yard. I set up the tripod. I knew exactly what I would point the scope at that night. I aimed the lens at the moon.

Namely, because it was Christmas Eve. And the moon was full that year. For the first time on a holiday weekend since 1977, the moon was full. The next time the moon would be full would be 2015. After that, 2034. This was a big deal in the Metonic Cycle. A big, big deal.

I aimed my Halleyscope at the sky. There were 5,185 craters on the moon looking back at me. Crisp and clear.

I nearly cried. But then, of course fatherless boys don’t actually cry. Children of suicide don’t cry. Especially not in front of their hardworking mothers. Your mom depends on you for strength. If you lose your composure the whole ship goes down.

“Do you like it?” she said.

I was staring into the eyepiece. “Yes.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t’.”

“This must have cost a lot.”

She said nothing.

We stood there. Me looking into the scope. Mama rubbing her upper arms to keep warm.

“Can you see anything up there?” she asked.

I removed my eye from the lens. “Would you like to look?”

“Oh, no. I wouldn’t know what I was looking at. You do the looking for me.”

“Please. Take a look.”

“No. Really.”

“Please, Mama.”

A beat of silence went by.

“Okay,” she said, “but then I’m going inside. I’m freezing.”

Mama bent to stare into the lens. She was silent for a few moments. I heard her gasp slightly when she saw what was up there. The myriads of miracles.

“Oh, my,” she said. “I see the moon so clearly.”

“Isn’t it great?”

“I’ve never seen the moon look that way.”

She looked for a long time. Then she stood erect and smiled. There were tears in her eyes. “And you know what?” she said, “I’m giving it to you, sweetie.”

“The telescope?”

“No. The moon.”

“That’s impossible. You can’t give someone the moon.”

She hugged me tightly. This woman who struggled to make ends meet so we didn’t have to.

“Mothers can,” she said.

And I’m here to tell you. Mine did.