happy saint nicholas day!
we didn't put our shoes out or hang stockings this year, but we made a special trip to the downtown holiday parade just to see the jolly fellow.
i've had the honor of knowing three santa's in my life. that's right, count 'em 3.
how my dad pulled the wool over my eyes, i'll never know. how i didn't see him in those deep blues? we'd come running upstairs from the basement & there he'd be! i loved it. he was the best. if only i had thought then to wish for longer life, more opportunities for him to play st. nick for his grandchildren, a little time with them on the slopes... (that wouldn't have been really living now would it. i want to make those wishes now too, but i don't, remember: now is now). my parents would give to families they knew were in need. friends. strangers. neighbors. i remember on occasion helping mom pick out gifts for a certain family in town who didn't have much. when i was older i remember hopping in the car with them. my dad dressed in his santa suit, fake beard, glasses. we'd sit watching from the other side of the street as he would walk up to the house and give presents out of the big red bag slung over his shoulder. he'd walk down the street, waving as he went. slowly, we'd drive by and pick him up, out of sight from the children watching at the window. we were his elves.
another santa, grandpa herb. nothing fake about that one (except the beard); he was the real deal. he permeated peace (still does). generous to the truest sense of the word. like an endless fountain of love that man. just love overflowing. i was so little. my memory is refreshed by photos but i do remember how i felt. i don't have the words to describe how i felt as a little girl sitting up on his lap, looking in his face. i don't know if i whispered wishes or not (did i grandpa?) but there was magic, i do believe. i know it. i felt it. i can still tap into it.
the third santa with a constant twinkle in his eye. kindness bursting at the seams. not just at the holiday, but every day. every week. creative, thoughtful, generous, brilliant and good. what's more... he has the real beard.
Oh what a beautiful picture and sharing! It makes me so lonesome but happy at the same time. I love the memories being shared!!
ReplyDeleteThis is from the family website...I thought you should see it here since Dad doesn't know how to access and leave a message for you here!
ReplyDeleteSarah, thank you for a beautiful posting. I responded by posting a rather long response, last night, after talking to your Mom and reading your piece. I hit the post button but for some reason this morning I find nothing posted. I have to confess that I am not as comfortable with this format as I was with the old one. That said, you wrote a very thought provoking piece and it brought back a lot of memories from those days that you, and many others, brightened my day by sitting on my lap, holding my hand or just standing in awe as they looked into my eyes. Little ones trusting that their wishes would be made possible by the fat old guy with the white beard and the red suit. After all he was Santa and they had been told by their parents and society that he was a good guy. As Santa I tried very hard to never make a promise that a wish would be met, except in cases that I knew it was safe territory. My memories of going to a home unexpectedly and surprising parents, more than children by my appearance, are still happy ones. Perhaps as happy, memories of hospital visits where, all at once Santa became as real to an 80 year old as Santa did the child in the pediatric ward. When Santa appeared all other identity was lost. It was a good feeling. Now I have a question for you Sarah. When will your novel be available on Kindle or at Barnes and Nobel?