(An email to share this
holiday season)
I remember my first Christmas adventure with
Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to
visit her on the day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa
Claus," she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had
been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be straight with me. I
knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down
a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous"
cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had
to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm.
Between bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa
Claus?" she snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has
been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your
coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I
hadn't even finished my second world-famous cinnamon bun. "Where"
turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that had a little
bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me
ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she
said, "and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in
the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone
shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.
The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their
Christmas shopping.
For a few moments I just stood there, confused,
clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy
it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my
friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my
church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly
thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he
sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have
a coat. I knew that because he never went out to recess during the winter. His
mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we
kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I
fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker
a coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood
to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for
someone?" the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten
dollars down. "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for
Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about
how Bobby really needed a good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she
put the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat
(a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in
Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus"
on it.
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on
secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went
that I was now and forever officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's
house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.
Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she
whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front
door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the
safety of the bushes and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness
for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those
moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That
night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what
Grandma said they were -- ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on
his team.
I still have the Bible, with the coat tag
tucked inside: $19.95.
May you always
have LOVE to share,
HEALTH to spare
and FRIENDS that care...
And may you always
believe in the magic of Santa Claus!
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