Stopping Santa

The first Christmas I can remember, I instructed my mom to tell Santa Claus not to come. My oldest brother was furious. I simply pointed out the scariness of Santa. His thick beard hid his face. His glasses were hiding his eyes. His big fat figure put him in the giant category. He came to your house at night. That is what burglars did.

“Santa can skip our house,” I told my mom.
I remember mom picking up the phone. I remember brothers in their rooms grumbling.

I would get presents despite Santa’s visit. My parents provided. Nothing to worry. Christmas Day would be exciting anyway.

Grandma spent the night that Christmas Eve. She would sleep right by the fire on the brown pull out couch. She told me if he came, she would talk to him. Another added assurance. Grandma would stand guard. We would leave no cookies or milk. That would be another incentive to skip our house.

I lay in bed thinking. If I hear so much a jingle bell or reindeer paw clomping or a ho ho- I am going to……- what? I had no plan just a feeling of suspense as to what would happen. I lay there awake as long as I could and the next thing I remember is a thump.

This wasn’t Santa landing on the chimney’s bottom. It was my brothers hitting the floor and running down the hallway. Rustling and whispering followed. Then I felt a big pounce. My brothers enjoyed using the morning pounce as my alarm clock– especially on exciting mornings like this.
“We are rich!” said one.
“You have about 16 presents.” said another.
My brothers felt it their job to inform others of the wealth we had gained overnight.

I got out of bed and walked with them to the living room. My grandma sat up and stretched.
“Well, Santa was so quiet, I didn’t even know he was here.”
I looked over at the tree. Sure enough, Santa had come.

My parents came out rubbing their eyes. ( It was probably only about 6 am)
“Wow! Look at all those presents.” they both said.
“Did Santa bring them?”

Just then my older brother pointed at the floor. A trail of ashes led from the fireplace to the tree.
“I’d better get the broom” said mom.
I just stared at the trail wondering….Why did he come? He was told to skip our house. Right?

“Here, open up the first present- this one is for you from Santa,” said my brother.
A Christmas miracle that he let me go first. The wrapping paper was covered in beautiful Christmas trees. I didn’t want to rip it but carefully open it. Inside was a smiling red hair doll. She wore a light pink dress and had such long smooth hair.
“It’s Cinnamon!” I exclaimed.
“This is the doll I always wanted!” I cried.
Everyone just smiled.
I couldn’t believe it. My mom said “No” to Cinnamon several times.

Soon the room was filled with wrapping paper and bows. It looked like a burglar HAD come and torn the house apart. Mom got a garbage bag and starting picking up papers and bows. We all held and had our special moments with our new treasures.

“Boy, I think we need to give Santa a big thank you.” she said.
I held my Cinnamon Doll. Her hair smelled of cinnamon. I pressed her belly button and her hair became longer. I turned her back knob and her hair became shorter. This long wished for doll was mine.
Santa had come despite my fears. Santa came and gave me a longed for gift. Santa had come to bring me joy because that is what he does.
“Thank you Santa,” I whispered.

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