I have promised myself for some time that I would explore my ambivalence to Christmas.
1.
It started with some of my earliest memories.
The first Christmas I remember was when Mom and Dad took !my sister and I to a local department store to look at what we wanted for Christmas.
When we looked at toys, filled up our cart, Mom took us out to the car.
"Where's Dad?" I asked.
"He took them to show Santa,, so he can bring them."
That didn't compute. Even to a four year--old.
2.
Santa had a half-hour show after school, during the Christmas season.
He'd read letters and take calls from children. All of them from children in the Sioux City area.
Doesn't Santa, hear from children all around the world, but he only reads those from Sioux City.
Another thing didn't compute.
3.
It may have been later that year, or the next, my sister and I were at my grandparents house. We were staying there because Mom was in the hospital. We didn't know she would never come out alive.
It was the Christmas of 1967, or maybe 1968.
Christmas was on Sunday. Chicken was boiling on the stove, probably for chicken and dumpings. Grandma had the television turned on to one of her religious programs.
The snow was deep and we lived at the bottom of a hill. I don't remember who made it to dinner. (Grandma always had Sunday dinner and regardless of what was on the table, those who didn't attend were the topic of conversation.)
All day, no Dad, no Christmas presents.
Then some time after 6 p.m., Dad came with a bunch of presents. He said Santa brought them to our house, because he couldn't couldn't get through.
I was glad for the presents, but I was more pleased to the see Dad.
But three strikes and you're out: a sleigh and flying reindeer could have made it dowthat hill. I was done with the story of Santa.
My parents never said anything about Santa, so although I sort of hoped he was real, I knew he wasn't. The culture tells you even if your parents don't do the pretend thing.
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