When I was little, I thought I had everything. After I got adopted by a rich family, I had all the toys and gadgets any kid could ever want. Our house was huge — like a castle! But even with all of that, there was one thing I wanted more than anything in the world: my dad’s time.
My name is Peter, and my story didn’t start easy. When I was three, my parents died in a terrible accident. I barely remember them. I spent two years in a foster home, waiting and wishing for someone to pick me. Then, just before I turned five, my wish came true. Heather and her husband, James, adopted me.
The first time they brought me to their giant mansion, my mouth dropped open.
“This is even bigger than the White House!” I shouted.
Heather laughed and hugged me. “Well, it’s not that big, but it’s home.”
Heather was amazing. She taught me how to bake chocolate chip cookies, helped me build volcanoes for my science fair, and every single night she tucked me into bed and read me a story. But James — my new dad — was different.
He was always busy. He traveled for work all the time, and even when he was home, he stayed locked in his office. Sometimes I’d stand by his door, hoping he’d come out and play with me, but he hardly ever did.
One day, I saw one of his cool muscle cars parked in the driveway. The engine stuck out of the hood like a shiny monster.
“Mom, how do car engines work?” I asked Heather, my finger pointing at the car.
She smiled. “That’s your dad’s thing, sweetheart. You should ask him.”
So I ran straight to Dad’s office and knocked on the door. He was typing on his laptop.
“Dad! How does your car engine work?” I asked, trying to sound grown up.
Without even looking at me, he said, “I’m in a meeting, Peter. Go ask your mom,” and waved his hand to shoo me away.
My heart sank. At first, I didn’t care too much — after all, I had so many toys, games, and my mom was always there. But then I started noticing my friends at school talking about things they did with their dads.
Kieran told me about fishing trips where they’d sit by the lake and talk for hours. Another kid said his dad taught him how to build a treehouse. I didn’t have stories like that. Just stories about playing alone with new toys.
One day, after Kieran told me about catching a giant fish with his dad, I whispered to myself, “I wish my dad would take me fishing.”
When Christmas came close, my friends were all excited about family dinners and decorating trees together. I felt so alone. One night, I decided to write a letter to Santa. Maybe he could help.
Here’s what I wrote:
**“Dear Santa,
I don’t know if you remember me. Last year, I asked you for a family, and you gave me one. But now, I feel like my dad doesn’t really want me. He’s always too busy.
All my friends do fun stuff with their dads, but I just get toys. I don’t want toys this year. I just want a dad who loves me and spends time with me. If that’s not possible, maybe you could give me a different dad.
Love, Peter.”**
I hid the letter under my pillow, but Mom found it while changing my sheets. When she read it, she started crying. She went straight to Dad’s office and dropped the letter on his desk.
“You need to read this,” she said. “It’s from Peter. Maybe now you’ll understand.”
Dad didn’t even look at it at first. “I’ll read it later,” he said, tapping away on his keyboard. But later that night, when he was finally done with his calls, he opened the letter. I heard him sobbing from my room.
The next morning, he woke me up super early.
“Hey, buddy! Pack your bags!” he said, his face all smiley.
I rubbed my eyes. “Huh? Pack my bags? Why?”
“We’re going on a trip!” Dad said.
“Where?” I asked.
“To New York City!” he said. “We’re gonna see the Christmas lights, the big Rockefeller tree, and maybe even go ice skating!”
“Really? Just the three of us?” I asked.
“Yep! Just us,” he said, messing up my hair like he used to when I first got there.
That trip was the best thing ever. We saw Times Square lit up like a million stars. We skated at Rockefeller Center — even though Dad fell and got snow all over his pants, we laughed so hard! We saw a Broadway show with dancing elves and reindeer. And on Christmas morning, we all ate pancakes together in our hotel room.
Then Dad looked at me and said, “Peter, I know I haven’t been the best dad. But that’s going to change. You mean the world to me. From now on, I want to do everything with you. I love you, son.”
I hugged him so tight. “I love you too, Dad. This is the best Christmas ever.”
When we got back home, I wrote another letter to Santa:
“Dear Santa,
I don’t want a new dad anymore. I love my dad, and I know he loves me too. Thank you for the best Christmas ever!
Love, Peter.”
After that, Dad really kept his promise. He didn’t work so much. He took me fishing. We built a treehouse together, just like my friends. We made pancakes on Sunday mornings. And every night, he tucked me in with Mom.
Now I know something really important:
Toys don’t matter as much as love does. Money can’t buy family. And no matter how busy you are, you should never be too busy for the people you love.
If you liked my story, maybe you can tell someone else too — so they remember what really matters.
❤️