Merry Christmas Day 8

One Christmas, there was a surprise blackboard where Santa had written my sister and me a note.

“That’s Nana’s handwriting,” I said. I looked squint – eyed at my mother and grandmother. Then I shrugged off that coincidence and went to open all of my presents, which happened to be Barbie stuff. Including a toaster that really popped the toast up.

I believed in Santa like a crazy gal. I argued with first graders, and when I went to second grade, I argued with second graders, and when I went to third grade, I argued with third graders. According to my mother, I believed in Santa until I was 12-years-old.

I still sort of believe. And while I never taught my own children that Santa gave them presents, I did tell them there was someone who gave to people who didn’t have anything and that he lived long ago and he is the real Saint Nicholas. And because I love Him, we talked a lot about Jesus.

By the way, Mom said when she told me Santa wasn’t real, I cried for hours. Then she said I ran back in to the living room, and asked, “Well, what about the Easter Bunny?” It was a rude awakening.

So what do you believe?

Who is your hero?

What means the most to you at this time of year?

How does your character celebrate?

Write 25 adjectives  showing how your character celebrates Christmas.

what would your character fight to the death for?

And finally, if there were a Santa Claus, and there may be, what would he do for you?

There’s Always a Turn. Always.

I Didn’t Sleep Last Night

But I wrote a post, marking the minutes as they passed.
It’s too down. Too depressing to put up here.
After all, this is the best time of year, right?
And I shouldn’t feel this way.

Once, when I was very young, my little sister and I heard Santa on the roof.
It was Christmas Eve.
We heard his sleigh bells.
We heard the scuffling of feet above us.
We were at my grandmother’s house.
We lay in bed then closed our eyes but knew right then and there that Santa did come to little girls’ homes when they were awake.

I love that memory.

In first grade I defended Santa and the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and some cartoon characters and the guy with the pot o’ gold and vampires almost to blows.
Second and third grade, too.
And fourth.

It’s embarrassing to find out in fourth grade none of those good things are what they seem for everyone else and so we have to fight
–for the right
–to par-tay.

And to believe.

So I taught my girls that we give because we love and that Santa was a great guy who lived a long time ago and gave to those he saw who had nothing.

Every year, no matter our own circumstances, we try to give to those who have nothing because, damn it, we have a lot.

Here’s what I know–a character who believes in Santa is different than one who doesn’t.
Make your character an individual.
One who hears the sleigh bells and punches the snotty dark brown-haired girl in the nose.
Or, make her the snotty brown-haired girl.
Either way, make her real.

Here’s an aside story.
When Kyra was just over two, a well-meaning friend got face-to-face with her (a big mistake in Kyra’s book) and said, “What’s Santa bringing you for Christmas?”
We were in a busy store. Lots of people milling about.
“Santa’s dead.” Kyra said this in a loud voice and with authority–the way she still says stuff.

Kinda the same voice she used when she asked me if we were in Satan’s church when we went to visit someone else’s place of worship.

Hmmm. Satan and Santa are spelled sorta the same.
And I believe in both those guys.
No matter–it was Santa on the roof that night.

Merry Christmas.