When I was about six or seven years old, I asked my dad if Santa Claus was real. I told him some kids at school had told me there was no Santa, and the presents really came from my parents. My mom and dad were always extremely generous, and logically it made sense, because Santa inevitably brought us more than other kids in our blue-collar neighborhood.
Daddy took me into our den, its walls clad in green and white wallpaper with textured designs like stripes or polka dots inside diamond shapes that I remember running my fingers over to experience the different textures tactically any time I went into that little room. My parents never told me to get my dirty fingers off the wall, and to respect that, I always washed my hands when I came in the house after school or after playing with my friends. On this particular evening, we didn't have any guests staying with us, but the den doubled as a guest bedroom that my dad and mom let family, friends and an occasional recovering alcoholic stay for a visit or to get back on their feet if they had hit some hard times.
Daddy sat down with me on the rough-fabric of the brown convertible sofa in our den, beneath the large print of two hunting dogs that always hung there enclosed in glassed-in frame He started by telling me a little about what it was like to be raised during the Great Depression. “My family was very poor when I was your age. I already had a job working on a neighbor's farm when I was seven,, and that gave me some coins to buy candy, but we really couldn't afford any toys for me and my three brothers and two sisters.
“One day while buying a piece of penny candy at the general store for my little brother Robbie and me. I saw a wooden sled with a red track. When I saw it, I just thought, 'Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a sled like that?''
“Where I grew up in North Dakota, it was cold in winter, so there was a lot of snow, but for us, it wasn't fun. It just made work harder. In fact, we would have winds kick up and make it impossible to see arm's length in front of you/ We had a rope tied between the house and the barn, so that we could find our way back after milking the cow.
“When I woke up on Christmas morning that year, I found that sled with a red bow and my name on it. Now I know there's no way my family could have ever afforded such a thing, so don't tell me there's no such thing as Santa.”
That was enough for me. I told my friend Jeff, whose two older brothers had made fun of him for believing in Santa Claus. I said Santa Claus probably didn't come to his house because they didn't believe in him. Jeff asked sincerely if he could spend the night at our house on Christmas Eve. I asked my mom and dad, and they laughed joyfully but said Santa didn't work like that..
For what it is worth, Jeff, who always loved to draw, ended up creating some magic of his own when he grew up. He became and Imagineer at Disneyland, as one of the behind-the-scenes artists creating rides for children of all ages to enjoy.
Merry Christmas.
