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
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