Santa’s Sprite
I was around eleven years old, the eldest of eight children, when my beleaguered mother desperately reached out to me to help perform Santa duties. I was honored, excited that I’d get an early look at what Christmas holidays had in store for me and my siblings.
Unfortunately, I quickly learned that producing the holiday from her thin budget meant I had to transform into a bit of a wizard. Each person had one or two substantial gifts (a bicycle, a doll, a cowboy outfit, etc.) and the other trinkets (horns, fake watches, cap guns) had to be disguised through slight-of-hand to appear important enough to fill in the gaps.
Additionally, the work for the holiday was compressed into about two middle-of-the-night hours, as the excited siblings did not want to go to bed on Christmas Eve. A couple of the boys actually schemed right in front of me (unaware I was Santa) about faking sleep and catching Santa in the middle of his activities. They wanted a live show, complete with an encounter, which they could talk about with their friends.
I was beside myself as I devised lots of games to tire out the team. Rowdiness had never been so encouraged. Television movies were played in hopes that some of the brood would accidentally doze off. I had the bright idea of delegating to some of the gang to create the snack area for Santa, complete with smarmy letters about how good we had all been, and could he give Rudolph some cookies so he could fly all over the world.
My mother demanded the children get in bed and at least pretend to be asleep. This worked at long last, and finally, around midnight, we had time to get to work.
My mother produced boxes and boxes of varying sizes. Then she brought in stacks of tissue paper and some bits and pieces of wrapping paper for good measure. “You will need to be sure to spread the gifts and papers so that the stacks are similar in size, and no one feels like Santa slighted them,” she cautioned me.
Santa appeared to be as organized as a librarian, never mixing up gifts for the boys with the gifts for the girls. “He” was careful to leave a name on each pile as well to help the children locate their gifts.
The bicycles were never assembled but left in their boxes with a sweet, printed note from Santa that he had to go to China and time wouldn’t allow him to assemble the bikes. He assured them that my (sleeping at the time) father would be able to put the bike together in the morning.
My magic began as I tossed open boxes on each stack and artfully arranged rainbow tissue paper to make truly little appear as opulent as a Mardi Gras float.
The finishing touch was the arrangement of the Christmas stockings. We were in cavity-fighting mode, and my mother had decided to make most of the stocking contents healthier fare. Oranges, apples, raisins, and shelled nuts fell out of each stocking. One or two chocolate bars were thrown in for an exciting finale.
By this time, I would be so tired I’d be stumbling. Off to bed I’d go, feeling tremendously creative, adult duties accomplished.
The next morning, I woke to delighted screams of joy. Never did anyone notice that the most prevalent objects were boxes and tissue paper. I’d learned a great lesson about the art of presentation early in life which eclipsed the limited budget my mom had to work with. Christmas was joyous and exciting for all.
May you have that holiday glow this year, even if you have to conjure a bit of magic to make it happen!
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