Growing up my parents had this “don’t ask don’t tell” Santa Claus policy. As kids, my brothers and I only knew the true meaning of Christmas, the birth of Christ, but my parents went out of their way to make sure we didn’t spoil other kids Christmas by bluntly blundering the secret.
I remember being little and listening to the other little kids talk about Santa with excitement and I grew to appreciate thier reverence for Santa and how this figure brought them so much joy. For me knowing the gifts came from my parents meant more. Some years were rough for my parents financially, but they never left us without and our tree was always well kept with gifts for all of us.
Christmas Eve is spent at my grandmother’s house, we would get a birthday cake for Jesus and sing happy birthday, it was my grandmother’s tradition. Christmas morning we would relax at my moms place. Now that I’m married and have my own place there is visiting in-laws and hosting a dinner at my house. It’s getting to be a little too busy to relax.
My work has a Christmas party for all the worker’s families, sometimes it’s a day at the movies, other times we all go to the skating rink. We have Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus there and buddy the elf. After two years of buddy the elf duty I’ve graduated into being Santa Claus.
Even though Santa was never my thing, it’s been an amazing experience seeing the kids light up and smile knowing he was real all along. One of my buddies brought his son over and he kept saying “I don’t believe in Santa”, so in a hearty voice I said, “I believe in you Jason”. The kid’s jaw hit the floor because I knew his name.
I’m sure I’ve shared this story before, but it’s my best Christmas memory thus far.
My father passed away September 30th of 2007; I was 13. The remaining months of that year and the year to come were very dark. It was especially hard on my mom who couldn’t bare the loss no matter how strong she was and is. She was falling apart and my brothers and I had to give away our immaturity to support her.
It was decided that we would have a mild celebration on Christmas and we wouldn’t attend the party at my grandmother’s house on Christmas Eve. It was just too hard on my mom. We had a little living potted Christmas tree and our stockings were hung and empty as they would remain. We decided as a family to get board game for under the tree, each person would pick a board game and that would be our gifts to each other. That was fine for us because it’s never been about gifts anyhow.
Christmas Eve found us all sleeping out in the living room; we just wanted to be together. A couple of twin mattresses on the floor and my older brother sleeping on the couch. There wasn’t that childish excitement left in any of us that night as part of us was gone forever.
I awoke the next morning to a gasp from my older brother, when I opened my eyes the bright Christmas lights hung from the ceiling pierced the early morning darkness in such brilliance, the stockings were full and overflowing, the tiny little tree sitting on the counter had more gifts under it than what seemed physically possible. And for the first time in a long time my mom smiled.
She transformed the house into our Christmas wonderland in the middle of the night, it was as if Santa himself snuck in for a miracle. My mom gave more than the gifts that morning, she gave us our childhood back and the hope we had lost. She cushioned the reality of the situation.
The only gift that I remember is the one I’ll never forget. A Case tuxedo dresses in stag, the knife represents more than a thoughtful gesture, it reminds me that there is always going to be a light in the midst of darkness.
My name is Caleb (after the Caleb in the Bible) and my favorite pattern is probably a stockman, or a GEC #73L.
In the second one, I'm the old guy. My wife and all of my children are in the photo, along with two daughters-in-law and one grand-daughter. Expecting another one by this Christmas.
