It was Christmas Eve in a tiny, two-room apartment and my sister and I, ages two and four, are getting the Santa message to all good boys and girls; you’d better be good, I'm tellin' you why...Santa Claus is comin' to town. I, being the oldest, had my doubts. For one, we didn't have a fireplace and for another, and this was HUGE, it was RAINING!! I was, however, guaranteed a visit IF I was asleep when Santa arrived.
The next thing I knew it was early morning and a cold, damp breeze was blowing across the bed. The window behind the Christmas tree was opened just slightly, causing the sheer curtains to flutter gently, barely catching the branches of the Christmas tree...and then I saw it. To my horror, on floor, was broken glass from the milk and cookies I had left for Santa!
I called out to my mother and both she and Daddy hurried into the room to see what was so important. My dad immediately became animated in his annoyance, grumbling about Santa's bad manners, as my mom busied herself with cleaning up the shards of glass so we could get out of bed. My dad wouldn't be silenced as he made it clear he had a bone to pick with Santa 'next year'. My mom interjected excuses for the jolly old soul; he was busy...he had other kids to see...it wasn’t his fault it was sitting so close to the window. All I knew was I had absolutely no doubt that Santa was really, really REAL!
This isn't so much about Santa as it is about the great lengths my mother went to in order to create magical childhood memories for her children...and my dad's willingness to let her. This was just one of many Christmas mornings I was left wide-eyed and speechless in the wondrous ways of Santa Claus. My parents spent their precious early childhoods in the Great Depression, but that magic wasn't lost on my mother’s imagination! Between the two of them they so instilled a belief in the 'what if?' of Christmas that as a grown woman with two children of my own, I found myself thinking, 'what if?' for a brief time once when my mother-in-law mailed a postcard to my sons signed by Santa!
My mother out-did herself year after year, long after we had stopped believing in Santa. The surprises and magic of Christmas remained until each of us left home. Then the torch was passed to us, but we would learn that Santa could get 'confused' once in awhile and leave a package at Grandma and PaPa's house by mistake.
My parents gave me the greatest gift they could...the realization that just because you grow old is no reason to grow up. I have nieces and nephews who now grow in this magical and wonderful innocence that surrounds Christmas. I know there is a growing trend to be honest with children when it comes to fantasies like Santa, but I am ever thankful my parents allowed my imagination and creativity to cut its teeth on the likes of Santa Claus.
My parents just celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary this weekend and it is with grateful appreciation for all the effort they put into creating precious childhood magic for me that I say….'Thanks...for the memories!'.