Being Santa

While I grew up, Santa always came while we were sleeping. Because we didn't have a fireplace, I was told Santa had a magic key that enabled him to enter any house. Oh the havoc he could cause if he turned bad. But Santa isn't bad, and it isn't until I've grown cynical that I would think such ways. Anyway, Santa brought us one, sometimes two if they went together, gifts and filled our stockings. The gifts, if wrapped, were always wrapped in Santa paper. The only time they weren't wrapped was if they were too big, and then they got a big bow and a Santa tag. Nothing else was ever wrapped in Santa paper. It was special to Santa. Santa always wrote whom the gift was to and from. His handwriting was always big block print.

Santa also filled our stockings. The stockings always had an orange or tangerine and peanuts in the shell. Up until a few years ago, Brachs made chocolate covered marshmallow Santas that were also put in our stockings. I loved those things and went on a determined hunt to find them every year until this year. I haven't found them in at least five years. They still make chocolate covered marshmallow bunnies at Easter, but no Santas. If I remember, I will have to write them a letter.

Maybe I can stay on topic for more than a couple sentences now. Stockings� I was talking about stockings. So we got the orange, the peanuts, and the marshmallow Santas. Those were every year. Other things might have been in the stocking were those peppermint flavored nougats with the tree in the middle, kisses, and some kind of small toy, batteries or film. Since my parents never had their own stockings, Santa would conveniently leave extra candy on the kitchen table.

Other Santa traditions included leaving cookies and milk. Since my mom made sugar cookies every year, and we kids decorated them, we almost always made one especially for Santa. Mom and Dad always told us not to put too many crunchy candies on those cookies because Santa was old, and they would hurt his teeth. My dad hated those crunchy things. The cookies and milk were always gone in the morning. We also awoke to a tree laden in candy canes, put on by Santa. We never put our own candy canes on our tree, and we never bought them. They always appeared there on Christmas morning.

Santa was so wonderfully magical in our house that I hung onto my belief until the sixth grade. I was twelve when I finally questioned the reality of Santa, and my parents told me the truth. That was a big year for revealing truths I guess. But I still got presents from Santa because my brother was three years younger than me and also held onto the Santa belief. By the time he knew, my sister was born, and we got to start all over again. Santa never left our house.

There were a few years after I moved out that I didn't get anything from Santa. The first year I was pregnant, and Hammy was so little the next year, that we only wrapped up a gift from Santa. He didn't understand, and it wasn't much worth the effort. But as he grew older, I resurrected those Santa traditions. This time, my ex and I also had stockings that got filled. I've gotten a stocking from Santa ever since as has John once he joined our family.

Traditions and stories I kept included the magic key, leaving one or two gifts wrapped in Santa paper, filling the stocking, leaving cookies and putting up candy canes. The stocking gets filled with most of the same stuff as when I was a kid minus marshmallow Santas. I added a couple of my own things, including leaving iridescent glitter all over the floor where Santa has been, even going up to each kids' bed and out the front door. We also leave reindeer chow out front that disappears with a little left scattered about the yard. Santa always leaves just a bit of cookie in our house, so there's a piece left with a bite mark in it.

Hammy has begun to question the existence of Santa. I tell him when he stops believing in Santa, he no longer gets gifts from Santa. If he's smart, he will always believe. He may know that Santa lives through John and me, but Santa does exist. That's why my stocking gets filled every year. It's kind of like The Polar Express. I would still hear the bell ring.