When a child’s belief in Santa Claus is suddenly shattered by an older sibling, a wise grandmother steps in to prove the cynics wrong. This moving memoir reveals how a simple act of anonymous giving can transform an ordinary person into one of Santa’s lifelong helpers.
“I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid…
I remember tearing across town on my bicycle 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 neighbours, the kids at school, 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 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, 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 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 Bobby’s front door, dropped 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 realised
that those awful rumours 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 that Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95…That store clerk was one of Santa’s helpers, too!”
Anonymous
Image: A Finnish postage stamp of Santa Claus with Christmas gifts, 1991, courtesy: https://robertoalborghetti.com/
