Santa Needs Helpers by Betty Kaiser

Dear Readers,
For the last 20 years, it has been my tradition to share an old-fashioned holiday story in this column. This year’s story is a repeat from an anonymous reader in 2009. The premise is simple: we’re never too young (or too old) to practice a random act of kindness and be Santa! 

 

The setting is small town America, about 1950. Our narrator is an eight-year-old youngster. He begins …

“I was just a kid when I had my Christmas adventure with Grandma. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her one December day. Before I left, my big sister had dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

I immediately fled to my grandmother because I knew she would be straight with me. Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. She 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 she said so.)

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 you believe it! That rumor has been going around for years and it makes me mad; just plain mad!

“Now, put on your coat and let’s go.” “Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished the last of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

‘Where’ turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of everything. As we walked through the store’s door, 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 I had never shopped for anything all by myself. The store was 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 remembered 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. All of us 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. 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 when Grandma helped me wrap the coat, a little tag fell out and she tucked it in her Bible. We wrapped the coat up real pretty with paper and ribbons and wrote, “To Bobby, from Santa Claus,” on a gift tag.

Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house. She explained 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 we got out of the car. She and I crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then she 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.

Finally, the door opened and there stood Bobby. Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent beside my Grandma, shivering in Bobby Decker’s bushes delivering his gift.

That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were — ridiculous! Santa was alive and well. We were on his team. And to prove it, I still have Grandma’s Bible with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.”

Well, that’s it for this year, folks. As we pray for peace on earth and good health around the world, let’s also be alert if we see someone who needs a Santa’s helper. It might be you — whatever your age may be. Merry Christmas and 

God Bless you all!

                            

Betty Kaiser's                 12/23/09 Chatterbox

 Cottage Grove Sentinel 

Contact by email bchatty@bettykaiser.com  

                                      

   

                                                 

 

 

 

 

Giving Thanks in Tough Times!

 11/19/20 Chatterbox
Betty Kaiser

Here in the USA we happily set aside one day every year to join with family and friends, eat too much and count our blessings. Normally, there’s a whole lotta cooking going on, grandkids to be hugged, family gossip to be caught up with and blessings to be shared. It’s called Thanksgiving

This year is a little different. The meaning of the day is the same but this time, for many people, it’s hard to find a blessing to count.

Early this year, a previously unknown killer virus —Covid-19— began making its way around the world. In spite of masks and social distancing, things have not gotten better. People are still getting sick, dying and fearful uncertainty abounds.

Then, to top it off, hanging over our heads is the most controversial Presidential Election—ever! Tempers are hot, name calling is rampant and common sense is ignored. What a year!

Looking back, I imagine that’s how the Pilgrims felt in 1621. They were pretty excited as they arrived on the shores of the New World in 1620. However, after they endured the trip across the ocean on the Mayflower, more challenges and grief awaited them than expected.

That first winter more than half of the new Plymouth colonists died from malnutrition, disease and exposure to the harsh weather. The others  were helped to survive by the Wampanoag Native Americans who taught them how to grow food and later made a peace pact with them.

The Pilgrim’s first Thanksgiving is believed to be in the autumn of 1621. After a horrible year of deaths and near survivor starvation, the remaining Pilgrims celebrated their harvest with a festival as was the custom in England. The now 50 colonists were joined by about 90 Wampanoag tribesmen.
Historical accounts are sketchy but it seems that they celebrated together with joy. For 3 days, they ate their harvested crops and venison from the tribesman. They played ball games, sang, danced and ate along with the Native Americans who had helped them survive.

Each side prayed and thanked their gods during the three-day celebration. The Pilgrims were religious separatists from the Church of England and worshipped one God. The native tribe of Wampanoag was also deeply religious.They worshipped idols and paid homage to more than one God.

We celebrate this well known story as the first Thanksgiving in the New World. Unfortunately, peace didn’t last between the English settlers and their one-time Wampanoag allies. There was a horrible war in 1675 and the natives were massacred.

A yearly blessing of gratitude for harvested crops has been in place in most countries of the world for centuries and remains so today. However, it took the United States awhile to make it a federal holiday.

A woman is credited with making Thanksgiving happen. Sarah Josepha Hale, editor of Godey’s Lady Book —a colonial women’s magazine—wrote letters over 36 years to five presidents requesting the holiday to unify the northern and southern parts of the country.

But it was her letter to President Abraham Lincoln that convinced him to support legislation establishing the holiday. In 1863, he proclaimed a national Thanksgiving Day each November.

Later, President Franklin Roosevelt, signed a resolution making the fourth Thursday in November as the Federal Thanksgiving holiday. The date was formally approved by Congress in 1941.

So, what are you thankful for this Thanksgiving? Some years it’s harder than others to be thankful: Times of war, the loss of loved ones and lingering illness, are especially hard. Perhaps we should think like Pilgrims.

This year, for our protection, Governor Brown has imposed rules to keep us healthy to slow down the coronavirus pandemic. Restrictions have been put on everyday activities like shopping and dining out. Limited socialization with friends and family is especially hard to cooperate with. Isolation is never fun on holidays.

At our house there will just be two of us and the Dachshunds to celebrate Thanksgiving. There will be no large family gatherings or feasting for three days. Probably no games will be played unless it’s Pinocle or UNO.

However, life will go on. Dinner will be topped off with pumpkin pie. A deer or two will wander around looking for roses in the garden. Squirrels will chase each other up the trees; birds will empty their feeders and raccoons do whatever they do!

Our gratitude will be all about the basics. We have each other, good friends and neighbors, live in a warm house, have food to eat and wildlife to entertain us. Family will check in from all over the country. Just hearing their voices will bring smiles.

Our biggest blessing will be the ones that we don’t have—like the Covid virus. And our most fervent prayers will be for those who are lying in a hospital bed fighting for their lives, mourning the loss of loved ones or homeless in the cold.

God help us all! We can do this! Have a happy memories Thanksgiving!

Contact Betty Kaiser’s Chatterbox by email bchatty@bettykaisr.com