The holidays became hard for my parents at one point. Their three kids left the house to get married. Oh, we didn’t move far. But, things had changed.
“I knew it!” my mother whispered out loud one day. “I knew this was going to happen.”
My eldest brother and I had married into the same family. I met my husband at an engagement party. My brother married my husband’s sister. We shared the same in-laws.
My husband and I had just broken the news to my parents that we would be spending our first Thanksgiving together……….at my in-laws house. My brother would be eating turkey at that house too.
“But, they already get Wayne! And, now you too? This is so not fair.” my mother uttered. She was usually pretty careful to keep her opinions to herself. But, it slipped out.
You see……….Thanksgiving was a huge deal to my new mother in law. It was HER day my husband told me. Well, “We’ll see.” I thought. But, I wasn’t fighting this fight just a few months after our wedding. I mean……..you got to let the husband think he has some say in this stuff.
My mother had tears in her eyes at the loss of a crowd at Thanksgiving.
I had to spin this. I had to take away her sadness.
I grabbed her and squished her into the bathroom and shut the door. My parent’s house was small. Privacy was hard to find.
“Ma! Knock it off! Michael’s chin is coming out. That means he’s about to put his foot down. Let my new folks have Thanksgiving. It’s all part of my plan.” I said in a loud whisper.
“Your plan?” she whispered back as she washed her face with cold water.
“This way………you get Christmas. What time do you want us here for Christmas?” I said in a hurry. I knew we couldn’t take up the one and only bathroom in the house for long.
My mother straightened herself up. She dried her face. She looked in the mirror and poofed up her hair.
“The night before.” she answered.
“Ma! You’re pushing it!” I replied as I hung up her towel.
“I don’t care how late you get here.” she insisted.
“OKay. I’ll see what I can do. But, I want a Christmas tree in the window of my old bedroom. All lit up. And, the cat sleeps with me.” I countered.
Christmas is in our hearts. Christmas lives in our memories.
Christmas was celebrated simply when I was a child. There was a tree. And, a nativity. There was a village underneath the living room table. Certain cookies were baked. We went to church where incense tickled our noses. We visited quiet grandparents on Christmas Eve. Noisy relatives descended on Christmas Day.
Hams were glazed with brown sugar and mustard. Potatoes were glossed with cream and cheese. Presents piled up under the tree. Candy was consumed. Cousins were played with.
It was all wonderful.
Christmas was magical.
It had a lot to do with anticipation.
We grow up. We try to bring the same magic to the next generation. Sometimes we succeed. Sometimes we fail. But, still we try.
I gave my children the wonder of midnight masses where they fought to keep their eyes open. Christmas nativity plays. Singing ‘Oh, Holy Night’ in choruses. I gave them lots of Christmas magic.
Some of the magic was unexpected.
I became an editor when they wrote their letters to Santa. I explained to them that spelling did indeed matter. If you want a bicycle? You’d better spell it correctly. I checked their penmanship. If your letter is sloppy and unreadable? You just might end up with a turtle neck sweater. A stamp was affixed to the outside of the envelope addressed to Santa Claus, The North Pole.
Kids accompanied me to the bottom of the driveway where the mailbox lives. I’d lift little bodies up so that they could put the envelope in the box themselves. I instructed them to put up the red flag so the mailman would notice that there was mail in the box headed for the North Pole.
Those letters worked. Santa never let any of us down.
Year and years would pass. No matter what you sacrifice? No matter what you do for your children? Sometimes they just remember the bad times. The embarrassing times. The times they think they were let down. They do remember the good times too, though.
They always remember ……………..Christmas.
And, like I said………….Santa never let them down.
“Do you remember, Ma? We would write letters to Santa Claus. And, a few times he wrote back?” my daughter remembered way back through the haze of years.
“Yes, I remember Santa writing to you.” I replied.
“You did good, Ma! I never recognized your hand writing. Thanks for being Santa and writing those wonderful letters to me.” my 35 year old daughter proclaimed.
“What?” I answered. “I never wrote you a letter and signed it Santa Claus! I do remember those letters. They were wonderful but they didn’t come from me. We put a stamp on your letter. We put it in the mail box. We put the red flag up. Someone from the North Pole answered those letters.” I replied in all honesty.
No kidding.
“Oh, come on, Ma! Give me a break! Take the credit. Those were wonderful letters!” my daughter said as she stared me in the eyes. Looking for a quirk of a giveaway.
“I never wrote to you and pretended to be Santa. Those letters were just as much a surprise to me as they were to you.” I assured her.
I was being honest.
Many years later………I met a dear lady and became her friend. She worked for the United States Postal Service. She brought a smile to everyone’s face on her route. Everyone knew her name. Everyone was sad when she retired.
I asked her once ………about letters that were addressed to Santa Claus, The North Pole.
She had a sweet smile on her face. She had tears in her eyes.
“That’s what I miss about my job, most of all.” she murmured quietly.
It seems that some children are very lucky. Some letters indeed end up at the North Pole. But, some letters are handled by wonderful helpers that are employed by the United States Post Office. Postal carriers walk many miles a day delivering mail by hand. Weather can wear them out. But, still……….at Christmas time they feel the magic of their own childhoods.
They reach into a basket of letters. Written by little children in crayon and markers and decorated with stickers. They eat their dinners. They get their second wind. They take up scented stationary that smells like peppermint. They use their very best penmanship.
They close their eyes and make a Christmas wish. They wish that just for tonight…………..That they can truly be Santa’s helper. They don’t make promises. They congratulate children for being good and obeying their parents and teachers. They wish a Merry Christmas. They sign letters with a flourish. They affix a stamp with Santa’s image upon it.
They give the letter a wish and a kiss. They put it into their own mailboxes and put up the red flag.
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