I know I've posted this a couple times, but it's Christmas...
And this story is about my Gramps--one of my all time favorite people...
The Perfect Santa
I hadn’t seen him in
almost forty years but there he was, waving at me from the cover of a greeting card. Perfection.
He bore no hat on his bald head and his beard flowed fat and
fluffy. A magical twinkle glimmered in
one eye while the other closed in a saucy wink.
Just the way I remembered him. I’d
been five when I'd first seen him, but I remembered every detail with vivid
clarity.
My
mother and I moved into my grandfather’s old farmhouse after my parents
separated. We displaced my mother's twin sisters when we put our bed in their
room. As a result, the tension in the
house hovered like another person in the too full house. Mother harbored angry feelings toward my
father, my aunts routinely expressed anger about having to share a room, and I
missed my dad.
Living
in a house with three women, I had too many bosses so I spent most of my days
outside, trying to hide in an effort to stay out of trouble. They constantly reminded me that Santa would
bring me nothing but a ‘sack full of switches.’ It was only natural that I
wouldn’t be looking especially forward to his visit.
That December,
the weather roared into our rural area, uncharacteristically cold and bitter. I felt more excited about wearing my new fur
hat than about any visit from Ole St. Nick.
The prior Christmas, I'd found a sweater and a set of paper-dolls under
the tree. Those old presents couldn’t
compete with my new fuzzy head-piece with its big shiny sequins. I loved to skip into the sparkling lights the
sun created when it reflected off the sequins.
My father had sent me the hat. Naturally
my mother hated it, but it didn’t matter.
My hat was not
my only source of entertainment. When
the house became unbearable, I’d escape to the barn and amuse myself. I’d become a master chef, creating amazing
pies and cakes out of mud and corn kernels; I’d be a major-general, leading my troops
to victory against hordes of Nazi soldiers; or, I’d imagine myself a fairy
queen, turning dandelions into roses with a single swish of a twiggy wand. I possessed an active imagination, which I hid
carefully because my mother didn’t appreciate my flights of fancy.
I might hide my
activities, but I never lied because Gramps said I must always tell the truth. I idolized my grandfather and followed him to
the fields whenever I could. Not only
did he never scold me, Gramps often provided a buffer between the three
screeching women and me. He’d whisk me
away just in time to avoid a spanking or he’d show me a new baby calf and let
me help with the milking. Best of all, he
told the most wonderful stories. At
least once each week, he’d take a break from the rigors of farm life to sit by
the fire and tell me a tale. I would sit
in his lap, mesmerized by his voice and the characters he imitated. Even my teenage aunts often stopped doing
teenaged things to listen.
One night in mid-December,
Gramps finished his latest story about a ‘giant toe.’ I’d started to sweat because
the fire crackled and I still wore my new hat.
Gramps just sat there instead of going to bed like he usually did. My aunts, who were still in high school, went
to their small room to do homework and my mother hadn’t come home from her
second-shift job at the factory. Just Gramps
and me.
“So, Teensie,
what do you want Santa to bring you?”
I took off my
hat and concentrated intensely on a sparkly sequin, trying not to cry. I wasn't sure how to tell Gramps about the
switches.
When I didn’t
respond, Gramps asked, “Teensie, what’s wrong with you?”
“Santa won’t
come to see me, Gramps. I’ve been bad.”
He started to
laugh but stopped abruptly when he looked at my serious face. I'm sure he feared I might start
sobbing. He put on his straight face and
asked, “And just what have you done that’s so bad?”
“Well, I
wrinkled Aunt Judie’s throw rugs and I got finger prints all over the coffee
table after Aunt June dusted it. I got
mud on my new shoes and I wore my hat when Mama said I shouldn’t.” I spewed forth, a litany of my
transgressions.
I stopped rambling
long enough to wipe my nose on my sleeve. “And, Gramps. That’s just stuff I did today. I can’t even ‘member all the stuff I did
yesterday.”
He stared at me
for a few seconds and I just knew he thought I would get those switches after
all. Maybe he'd feel bad for me and we
could have some chocolate milk on Christmas and just forget about ole Santa.
He finally said,
“By-the-By,” That was one of his favorite expressions but I had no idea what it
meant. “Teensie, you must try to mind
your Mama and your aunts, but you must also remember, Santa looks at your
heart, child. He only cares that your
intentions are good.”
I looked up in
wonder. “You mean?”
“Yep. Santa doesn’t care about throw rugs and
coffee tables. He wants you to have a
good heart and do your best. Have you
done that?”
“Oh, yes.” I began to feel pretty good.
“And have you
told any lies?”
“Not a one!” Then, I felt really good.
“Then I’m sure
Santa will bring you something nice.”
I hugged Gramps
and went happily to bed. I didn’t sleep
though. I sat up under my covers and tried to imagine what Santa might bring. If I stayed away from the rugs and coffee
table, maybe my aunts would help me make some chocolate oatmeal cookies for
him.
I tried to
imagine Santa eating that cookie, but I didn’t know exactly what he looked
like. I knew he had a beard, wore fancy red
clothes, and came down the chimney, but additional details were sketchy. I finally fell asleep trying to remember to remind
Gramps that we must put the fire out on Christmas Eve.
On December
twenty-fourth, my aunts and I sat around our Christmas tree eating chocolate
and biscuits. Mama and Gramps had
already gone to their rooms and Jingle Bell Rock played on the old
radio. I hummed along, cutting paper
dolls from an old catalog. Aunt June
looked up from her photo album and asked. “Shouldn’t you be going to bed?”
“I’m not
sleepy. Besides, I have to make sure the
fire goes out.” Both aunts
snickered.
June went back
to her album and Judie stuck her head back in her magazine that had a picture
of a man and a woman kissing on the cover.
I was cutting out another dress for my paper-doll when something in the
window caught my eye. There he was. Santa!
His bald head shown
in the darkness and I wondered if I should loan him my new hat. He had rosy cheeks, a long glittering beard,
and the brightest red coat I’d ever seen.
I quickly looked at my aunts to see if they’d seen him, but they were
still absorbed in their photographs and magazines. I looked back at the window. Santa held his finger to his lips and winked
at me. Then, just like that, he was gone.
I checked again to see if my aunts had noticed but they were still doing
teenage things. After a quick check of
the fireplace to make sure there were only coals, I ran to bed and pulled the
covers over my head. Christmas would be wonderful. I had seen Santa.
As years
passed, memories of that Christmas Eve faded.
The greeting card brought them all
I stood by his
grave and tried to tell him how much I'd miss him, but I couldn't speak. I knew Gramps understood. He always understood, and his understanding
made me believe in myself. I whispered a
prayer of thanks.
As I addressed
Christmas cards, I took a break and called my Aunt June. After we talked about the kids and the
weather, I asked her about that Christmas, “When I was five, was that Gramps who
dressed up as Santa?”
“What are you
talking about?”
“That Christmas
when I was five, there was a Santa at the window. Was that Gramps?”
My aunt was silent for a
few seconds. “No one ever dressed up as
Santa. Even if we could have afforded to
rent or buy a Santa Claus suit, your mother would never have allowed it. You know that.”
“Are you sure?” I persisted.
“I’m sure I saw a Santa outside the window.”
“I promise
you. While we lived in the farmhouse, there
was never a Santa.”
Oh, but
there was! After I hung up, I looked
out the window. It had started to snow
and once again, I believed. ----------------------------
As promised, my 12 Days tree...
Happy Holidays, Everyone!
R
