grandpa santa

As far back as I can remember, my dad has been Santa Claus. All dressed in red with white cascading down his neck, red-hued tones applied to nose and cheeks. When I was real young, maybe 6,7,8 our family would travel via car to the houses of friends on Christmas Eve. My mom would hand over her delicious cherry pudding with butter as sauce, and we would be welcomed in. I was always so excited because my friends were in for a treat. Santa would announce his arrival with loud ringing bells and then my friends would get to sit on his lap and get a present. My secret held firm. He, Santa, was really my dad.

But, before they saw Santa, my mom held her second gift to be handed over. An award. Tree judging was her specialty. Every house visited had a prize. But, every prize was different. My mom was a connoisseur of trees. She had been known to wait hours, in the early dawning mornings, bitter cold biting her toes and nose. Waiting for that perfect Blue Spruce, delivered from who knows where, to a mom that dreamed of Christmas trees past, wanting to bring them home again. Always beautiful.

After the other mom held firm to her awarded ribbon, the bells would ring and the children would scream. My Dad, my Santa, would come ho-ho-hoing carrying gifts retrieved from unlocked car trunks. The children sat on Santa's lap and gave him a hug and ripped open the gifts. We would chat, maybe have some hot chocolate, maybe a cookie or two, and then travel back to the car, eager to see our next tree and meet the waiting friends, anticipating Santa's gifts.

Later, as Santa's publicist just couldn't keep up with all the requests for appearances, grand parties were planned, and all the families would gather in one's cozy living room. Christmas caroling, crazy children running, awesome Christmas foods and cookies. Santa would ring his arrival again, year after year.


Then as our family grew with new babies and in-laws, we had our own private parties. Sometimes at home, sometimes in the cultural hall at church. Sometimes with invited guests, sometimes just family. We feast upon mexican food and a reading of the Christmas story told by St. Luke. Sometimes piano songs, one time a trumpet song. All times santa songs and Jingle Bells. This Grandpa Santa always rings his bells. Always has retrieved gift overflowing his bag. Always demanding hugs and kisses before the gift is given.


Just like me, my children love those Santa Christmas Eves. They always are quick to let me know that they know it's really Grandpa under those wigs, that's why they give him a kiss every year. They anticipate Christmas Eve with excitement and wonder. What will Santa give this year and will he really make them give him a kiss? Yes, a kiss is payment. No kiss. No gift.
A small price for such memories.