poetrytalks
12-20-2013, 07:46 PM
Evidence of Santa
by Sher Lianne Christian
My younger brother Marty and I sat with the superiority of a queen and king in the magical way back seat of our brand new ‘57 Ford station wagon. We sang Christmas carols all the way to our LA suburb home from the car dealer, hoping to see classmates we could lord it over in our impressive car. Far up front, Dad was driving with Mom and little sister Debbie beside him.
After dinner we decorated the Christmas tree. Dad encircled it with colored lights and clipped on the bubble lights, which took awhile to warm up and bubble. Marty loved to fling the silvery tinsel at the tree, where it landed in unsightly clumps. Despite my complaints, Mom would not make him do it correctly, so I laboriously removed each pile and carefully draped strands over the branches. I also replaced ornaments that were bunched together. Debbie’s were all down low. We stood back and admired our finished work of art, Dad with his arms around our aproned mom.
Then it was time for Mom to put Debbie to bed while Dad watched TV, and Marty and I did the dishes. It was his turn to wash and I kept putting his dishes back in the soapy water because they weren’t clean enough. After much tattling on each other, we finally finished and laid with uncharacteristic camaraderie under the delicious scent of the fir tree. We looked up at the beautiful decorations and reveled in our shared enjoyment of the moment and a swell of pride at our behavior.
The next morning dawned as another sunny southern California day. The pile of presents on the shelf in the hall had grown, so we recounted our total. There were 21 exactly for each of us. Mom loved Christmas gifts and wrapped everything she could think of, even shoe polish and socks. Of course, we received nice things too, and Santa brought something extra special on Christmas eve.
We went out to play with neighbors on our dead end street. Suddenly, Debbie ran up to me sobbing. “Gary said there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. Our mom and dad bring the presents. Besides, Santa couldn’t land on our houses with his sleigh because the roofs are too steep.”
“That’s not true”, I comforted her. “Santa lands in our front yard. You will see the marks his sleigh makes in the morning.”
“Really?” she asked, her sobs turning to hiccups.
“Yes, really. I promise.”
Late that night when everyone was hopefully asleep, I slipped out of bed and put on my robe and leather saddle shoes. I gingerly opened the front door, hoping it wouldn’t squeak, then tiptoed down the steps into the cold outside and onto the lawn. I looked up and down the deserted street and at my parents darkened bedroom window. Then I dragged the heel of my shoe in the sparse lawn to create two long indentations I imagined looked like sleigh marks. Sneaking back inside, I quietly closed the door and climbed back in bed.
Christmas morning we woke to the mouth watering smells of coffee and breakfast cooking. Mom and Dad were up early. They had made us promise to get out of bed no earlier than 7:00 am. Mom was starting her traditional feast to be kept warm for later: fried potatoes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon rolls.
Marty ran to see if Santa had brought a pogo stick and to rip off the wrapping on his presents.
Mom called from the kitchen, “Wait for everyone to get in the living room.”
“Awww..OK”, he answered, as he continued to search with no luck. I didn’t get a pogo stick”, he announced with disappointment.
Dad said, “Keep looking. I heard Santa jumping on it last night.”
Debbie sleepily appeared from our bedroom in her pink fuzzy robe. She didn’t even look under the tree to see what Santa had brought her. She went straight out the door to look for evidence of Santa’s sleigh. I quickly followed in time to see her sweet face light up with excitement.
“Santa did land in our yard!” she exclaimed.
Marty had found his pogo stick and bounced precariously on the walkway from the steps. Debbie proudly showed her discovery to him, then commandeered Mom and Dad outside to come see Santa’s sleigh marks. They stood in their robes, coffee cups in hand, looked at the lawn and then stared at each other with quizzical looks. I just smiled to myself.
by Sher Lianne Christian
My younger brother Marty and I sat with the superiority of a queen and king in the magical way back seat of our brand new ‘57 Ford station wagon. We sang Christmas carols all the way to our LA suburb home from the car dealer, hoping to see classmates we could lord it over in our impressive car. Far up front, Dad was driving with Mom and little sister Debbie beside him.
After dinner we decorated the Christmas tree. Dad encircled it with colored lights and clipped on the bubble lights, which took awhile to warm up and bubble. Marty loved to fling the silvery tinsel at the tree, where it landed in unsightly clumps. Despite my complaints, Mom would not make him do it correctly, so I laboriously removed each pile and carefully draped strands over the branches. I also replaced ornaments that were bunched together. Debbie’s were all down low. We stood back and admired our finished work of art, Dad with his arms around our aproned mom.
Then it was time for Mom to put Debbie to bed while Dad watched TV, and Marty and I did the dishes. It was his turn to wash and I kept putting his dishes back in the soapy water because they weren’t clean enough. After much tattling on each other, we finally finished and laid with uncharacteristic camaraderie under the delicious scent of the fir tree. We looked up at the beautiful decorations and reveled in our shared enjoyment of the moment and a swell of pride at our behavior.
The next morning dawned as another sunny southern California day. The pile of presents on the shelf in the hall had grown, so we recounted our total. There were 21 exactly for each of us. Mom loved Christmas gifts and wrapped everything she could think of, even shoe polish and socks. Of course, we received nice things too, and Santa brought something extra special on Christmas eve.
We went out to play with neighbors on our dead end street. Suddenly, Debbie ran up to me sobbing. “Gary said there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. Our mom and dad bring the presents. Besides, Santa couldn’t land on our houses with his sleigh because the roofs are too steep.”
“That’s not true”, I comforted her. “Santa lands in our front yard. You will see the marks his sleigh makes in the morning.”
“Really?” she asked, her sobs turning to hiccups.
“Yes, really. I promise.”
Late that night when everyone was hopefully asleep, I slipped out of bed and put on my robe and leather saddle shoes. I gingerly opened the front door, hoping it wouldn’t squeak, then tiptoed down the steps into the cold outside and onto the lawn. I looked up and down the deserted street and at my parents darkened bedroom window. Then I dragged the heel of my shoe in the sparse lawn to create two long indentations I imagined looked like sleigh marks. Sneaking back inside, I quietly closed the door and climbed back in bed.
Christmas morning we woke to the mouth watering smells of coffee and breakfast cooking. Mom and Dad were up early. They had made us promise to get out of bed no earlier than 7:00 am. Mom was starting her traditional feast to be kept warm for later: fried potatoes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and cinnamon rolls.
Marty ran to see if Santa had brought a pogo stick and to rip off the wrapping on his presents.
Mom called from the kitchen, “Wait for everyone to get in the living room.”
“Awww..OK”, he answered, as he continued to search with no luck. I didn’t get a pogo stick”, he announced with disappointment.
Dad said, “Keep looking. I heard Santa jumping on it last night.”
Debbie sleepily appeared from our bedroom in her pink fuzzy robe. She didn’t even look under the tree to see what Santa had brought her. She went straight out the door to look for evidence of Santa’s sleigh. I quickly followed in time to see her sweet face light up with excitement.
“Santa did land in our yard!” she exclaimed.
Marty had found his pogo stick and bounced precariously on the walkway from the steps. Debbie proudly showed her discovery to him, then commandeered Mom and Dad outside to come see Santa’s sleigh marks. They stood in their robes, coffee cups in hand, looked at the lawn and then stared at each other with quizzical looks. I just smiled to myself.