Christmas Magic
Dec. 18th, 2005 11:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kukla_tkoPer the request of one of my dearest friends, I would like to tell you all a Christmas story.
Go grab a mug of cocoa, or a glass of milk and some cookies and curl up in a nice afghan or comforter.
Snuggle down and let me tell you about Santa Claus. I'd like to point out that I have already told some Santa Stories last year:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/kukla_tko42/50857.html
http://www.livejournal.com/users/kukla_tko42/52291.html
(sorry, wasn't able to get the tags working.)
Santa comes to my house. He comes every year, and will continue to do so for as long as I believe in him. I had many reasons to believe in Santa over the years.
One year there was a footprint in the fireplace ash. A bootprint, I should say. It looked strange, and I quietly checked the boots in my parents closet. None of them had ash on them and none of them fit the print.
One year, I believe it was the year my youngest brother was born in September, Santa came to our house on Christmas eve while we were at church. It had become our habit to go to the five o'clock children's mass on Christmas Eve. Lots of things were done to make it special for the kids over the years, including having the children come up and sit at the front on the floor for a little bit during the mass. We were bustling out of the house, my parents trying to get two high-energy creative kids dressed up, calmed down, loaded into the car and suddenly my mother, as she is fumbling with the keys announces that she's forgotten the diaper bag. She goes back in to get it. When she came back out she said wearily that there weren't diapers in it and no wipes so she had to find them.
We wen to church, though a little later than we were supposed to. On the way home, Mom suggested that we stop in and wish my cousins a Merry Christmas. My aunt and uncle lived between church and our house, so it was no trouble at all to swing by there and wish them a merry christmas before heading home.
My cousins didn't spare us a glance. Santa Claus had COME already! They were playing with their brand new toys and bopping all over the house. My brother and I looked at each other and it slowly dawned on us that if Santa had been at THIS house... then... our house was not too far away...
We went home.
Santa had, indeed come to our house already. That year I got two things that stuck out in my mind: An "Annie" doll, (pair of them, actually) and my very first radio. It was a little orange am mono radio that took a 9v battery, and (gasp!) had an Ear piece!
My brother got some amazing toys. The best Star Wars toys ever: the Micro collection. Little tiny diecast figurines and little plastic articulated playsets for them. He got a few spaceships and a few scenes. They were awesome. There was also an "ET" blow-up doll, the punching-bag-technology type. Life-sized and already blown up and under the tree.
It was a good thing that Santa was so good to us and made Christmas so special for us. My parents were having a bad year. Papa didn't get his bonus, Mom had just had a baby and was eyeballs deep in a post-natal depression that would plague her for YEARS unchecked and undiagnosed.
Christmas was perfect. Except that when my brother went next door to play with the neighbor kids, he saw that they had all the most expensive toys, all the best ones, everything they could ever want. Those trucks that have a big battery in them and allow a kid to drive them all around the driveway? Yeah. Stuff like that. The next door neighbors were very upwardly mobile.
My brother went to my mom with tears in his eyes and said, "Mom, I'm a good boy, right? I mean, I tried really hard to be a good boy this year, I was nice to the neighbor boys even when they're brats, and I didn't get into any fights in school, and I did my work... but I didn't get very much from Santa at all... and those neighbor boys got all that stuff and I just don't understand how Santa could be so *unfair*..."
My mother hugged my brother and pulled him to her. "My son, (Ok, she said his name but I won't.) My son, you are a good boy. That's why Santa gave you those toys that you love so much. That's why he wanted to make sure and get to your house early this year, so you could play with your toys that much sooner. But you know, some kids aren't good enough and don't get special treatment from Santa like you did. Some kids might be ignored by Santa altogether. Some of those kids don't care about that, but some of them have parents who spoil them. And if one of those parents sees that Santa doesn't bring their kids the toys that their kids want, they'll buy them extra stuff to hide the fact."
My brother's eyes went wide. "OMG. Santa didn't bring the neighbor kids those toys, their PARENTS bought them! Of COURSE! Their parents are rich and spoil those kids rotten!!" My mother made my brother solemnly swear that he wouldn't tell other kids this part of the secret. My brother agreed and said, "Mom, I really do like the things that Santa brought me this year. He figured out what I wanted really badly and brought me just enough to make it special."
I had occasion, many years later, to tell this "Christmas Secret" to a child I was babysitting for, who was told by their extremely bratty friends that it was all a lie.
He understood instantly. And was so grateful that I was willing to trust him with this sensitive information. When that child's mom took me home that night I told her what happened and what I told him. She hugged me fiercely and said "Thank you. I wouldn't have known what to tell him and he's FOUR for crying out loud!!"
If you believe in Santa, he will come to your house and bring you miracles.
He comes to my house. If he leaves your miracle with me, I'll be sure to pass it along. And maybe, if he leaves someone else's miracle in your stocking, could you help him out and pass it along for him? I mean, we're 6,446,131,400 people now, and Santa needs our help to pass the Christmas magic along. Yes. I believe in Santa. I find his bootprints all over my life. Look for his footprints this year, will you?
Go grab a mug of cocoa, or a glass of milk and some cookies and curl up in a nice afghan or comforter.
Snuggle down and let me tell you about Santa Claus. I'd like to point out that I have already told some Santa Stories last year:
http://www.livejournal.com/users/kukla_tko42/50857.html
http://www.livejournal.com/users/kukla_tko42/52291.html
(sorry, wasn't able to get the tags working.)
Santa comes to my house. He comes every year, and will continue to do so for as long as I believe in him. I had many reasons to believe in Santa over the years.
One year there was a footprint in the fireplace ash. A bootprint, I should say. It looked strange, and I quietly checked the boots in my parents closet. None of them had ash on them and none of them fit the print.
One year, I believe it was the year my youngest brother was born in September, Santa came to our house on Christmas eve while we were at church. It had become our habit to go to the five o'clock children's mass on Christmas Eve. Lots of things were done to make it special for the kids over the years, including having the children come up and sit at the front on the floor for a little bit during the mass. We were bustling out of the house, my parents trying to get two high-energy creative kids dressed up, calmed down, loaded into the car and suddenly my mother, as she is fumbling with the keys announces that she's forgotten the diaper bag. She goes back in to get it. When she came back out she said wearily that there weren't diapers in it and no wipes so she had to find them.
We wen to church, though a little later than we were supposed to. On the way home, Mom suggested that we stop in and wish my cousins a Merry Christmas. My aunt and uncle lived between church and our house, so it was no trouble at all to swing by there and wish them a merry christmas before heading home.
My cousins didn't spare us a glance. Santa Claus had COME already! They were playing with their brand new toys and bopping all over the house. My brother and I looked at each other and it slowly dawned on us that if Santa had been at THIS house... then... our house was not too far away...
We went home.
Santa had, indeed come to our house already. That year I got two things that stuck out in my mind: An "Annie" doll, (pair of them, actually) and my very first radio. It was a little orange am mono radio that took a 9v battery, and (gasp!) had an Ear piece!
My brother got some amazing toys. The best Star Wars toys ever: the Micro collection. Little tiny diecast figurines and little plastic articulated playsets for them. He got a few spaceships and a few scenes. They were awesome. There was also an "ET" blow-up doll, the punching-bag-technology type. Life-sized and already blown up and under the tree.
It was a good thing that Santa was so good to us and made Christmas so special for us. My parents were having a bad year. Papa didn't get his bonus, Mom had just had a baby and was eyeballs deep in a post-natal depression that would plague her for YEARS unchecked and undiagnosed.
Christmas was perfect. Except that when my brother went next door to play with the neighbor kids, he saw that they had all the most expensive toys, all the best ones, everything they could ever want. Those trucks that have a big battery in them and allow a kid to drive them all around the driveway? Yeah. Stuff like that. The next door neighbors were very upwardly mobile.
My brother went to my mom with tears in his eyes and said, "Mom, I'm a good boy, right? I mean, I tried really hard to be a good boy this year, I was nice to the neighbor boys even when they're brats, and I didn't get into any fights in school, and I did my work... but I didn't get very much from Santa at all... and those neighbor boys got all that stuff and I just don't understand how Santa could be so *unfair*..."
My mother hugged my brother and pulled him to her. "My son, (Ok, she said his name but I won't.) My son, you are a good boy. That's why Santa gave you those toys that you love so much. That's why he wanted to make sure and get to your house early this year, so you could play with your toys that much sooner. But you know, some kids aren't good enough and don't get special treatment from Santa like you did. Some kids might be ignored by Santa altogether. Some of those kids don't care about that, but some of them have parents who spoil them. And if one of those parents sees that Santa doesn't bring their kids the toys that their kids want, they'll buy them extra stuff to hide the fact."
My brother's eyes went wide. "OMG. Santa didn't bring the neighbor kids those toys, their PARENTS bought them! Of COURSE! Their parents are rich and spoil those kids rotten!!" My mother made my brother solemnly swear that he wouldn't tell other kids this part of the secret. My brother agreed and said, "Mom, I really do like the things that Santa brought me this year. He figured out what I wanted really badly and brought me just enough to make it special."
I had occasion, many years later, to tell this "Christmas Secret" to a child I was babysitting for, who was told by their extremely bratty friends that it was all a lie.
He understood instantly. And was so grateful that I was willing to trust him with this sensitive information. When that child's mom took me home that night I told her what happened and what I told him. She hugged me fiercely and said "Thank you. I wouldn't have known what to tell him and he's FOUR for crying out loud!!"
If you believe in Santa, he will come to your house and bring you miracles.
He comes to my house. If he leaves your miracle with me, I'll be sure to pass it along. And maybe, if he leaves someone else's miracle in your stocking, could you help him out and pass it along for him? I mean, we're 6,446,131,400 people now, and Santa needs our help to pass the Christmas magic along. Yes. I believe in Santa. I find his bootprints all over my life. Look for his footprints this year, will you?
