Really? Come on, a fat guy in a red suit???!!
Okay, this is your first and only warning. This blog is about Santa Claus. If you are a child reading this...STOP NOW.
I was one of those kids that bought the story hook, line and sinker! The mere mention of Santa's name at any point in the year would straighten me up faster than the best chiropractor. One of the saddest days in my life was the day I discovered his true identity. Once I pouted for a year or two, (I mean after all, I was entitled, right? The song said, "You better not pout" so I listened and that meant I had a good 12 years of pouting to make up for.) I realized something truly wonderful about the spirit of Christmas.
Let me go back a little and help you understand. My mom spent the majority of her parenting years as a single parent. I won't go into all the details or the how's and why's but just know that my mom worked her tail off to support us. This often meant less and less time with her but that's what she believed was the best thing. It made the time we had were her even more special.
Each Christmas, we would each get a "big gift" and some smaller things from Santa. Christmas morning was wonderful because we all woke up to things we had dreamed about for so long but never fully understood the sacrifice it took to put those gifts under the tree. The year that I was 12 (yes, I said 12! You got somethin' to say about it, punk?) I wanted nothing more than a Hope Chest. I had read so many books that talked about hope chests and all the wonderful things you put in the them to save for your future. I really, really needed a safe place to keep and preserve my Bon Jovi tape and my New Kids on the Block posters. Those were things I wanted to keep so that they would still be lovely for my house when I was a grown up.
That Christmas Eve I just couldn't sleep. Had Santa heard my desperate plea, would I get my self-proclaimed, well deserved Hope Chest? I couldn't wait any longer, I had to get up and see him deliver this gift. As I slipped down the hallway, I could hear something being tapping quietly. Oh, that is how he was going to get it in the house...he would just assemble it here. I was finally going to see the real guy...the real deal...the real..."MOM?!"
There she was, 3:30 am after working her full time job and doing some waitressing on the side, putting together my Hope Chest. She was trying to be so quiet desperate to keep the dream of Santa alive for at least one more year. I ran back to my room and sobbed. To this day, I don't know if she ever saw me but now that I have children I have a new love for that Santa Claus...that person who loved us so much that she would do anything to make us just like every other kid, at least for Christmas anyway.
Thank you Mom for all the sacrifices you made for us. I know that there are times over the years that we have questioned your parenting and swore that given the opportunity we would do this and that differently but this memory will stay with me forever. I saw your love for me that night and even though the Hope Chest is no more, the memory is stored in a chest that will never fade.
Peace Out.
Okay, this is your first and only warning. This blog is about Santa Claus. If you are a child reading this...STOP NOW.
I was one of those kids that bought the story hook, line and sinker! The mere mention of Santa's name at any point in the year would straighten me up faster than the best chiropractor. One of the saddest days in my life was the day I discovered his true identity. Once I pouted for a year or two, (I mean after all, I was entitled, right? The song said, "You better not pout" so I listened and that meant I had a good 12 years of pouting to make up for.) I realized something truly wonderful about the spirit of Christmas.
Let me go back a little and help you understand. My mom spent the majority of her parenting years as a single parent. I won't go into all the details or the how's and why's but just know that my mom worked her tail off to support us. This often meant less and less time with her but that's what she believed was the best thing. It made the time we had were her even more special.
Each Christmas, we would each get a "big gift" and some smaller things from Santa. Christmas morning was wonderful because we all woke up to things we had dreamed about for so long but never fully understood the sacrifice it took to put those gifts under the tree. The year that I was 12 (yes, I said 12! You got somethin' to say about it, punk?) I wanted nothing more than a Hope Chest. I had read so many books that talked about hope chests and all the wonderful things you put in the them to save for your future. I really, really needed a safe place to keep and preserve my Bon Jovi tape and my New Kids on the Block posters. Those were things I wanted to keep so that they would still be lovely for my house when I was a grown up.
That Christmas Eve I just couldn't sleep. Had Santa heard my desperate plea, would I get my self-proclaimed, well deserved Hope Chest? I couldn't wait any longer, I had to get up and see him deliver this gift. As I slipped down the hallway, I could hear something being tapping quietly. Oh, that is how he was going to get it in the house...he would just assemble it here. I was finally going to see the real guy...the real deal...the real..."MOM?!"
There she was, 3:30 am after working her full time job and doing some waitressing on the side, putting together my Hope Chest. She was trying to be so quiet desperate to keep the dream of Santa alive for at least one more year. I ran back to my room and sobbed. To this day, I don't know if she ever saw me but now that I have children I have a new love for that Santa Claus...that person who loved us so much that she would do anything to make us just like every other kid, at least for Christmas anyway.
Thank you Mom for all the sacrifices you made for us. I know that there are times over the years that we have questioned your parenting and swore that given the opportunity we would do this and that differently but this memory will stay with me forever. I saw your love for me that night and even though the Hope Chest is no more, the memory is stored in a chest that will never fade.
Peace Out.
posted by Marie at 7:12 AM
4 comments
