CHRISTMAS AT SIX

Each Christmas of my early childhood, I allowed myself only a brief flutter of uncertain excitement at the idea that there might really be a Santa Claus.  Because my family was poor, our house had always shown a marked absence of the games and toys that I knew other children had.  I would consider briefly the possibility that on one magical night of the year, a jolly old man would fly through the sky and bring toys to my sisters and me; but I knew it was not true.  I knew this because by the time I was six years old, I could remember at least three previous Christmases which had come and gone with no early morning frenzy involving presents or stuffed stockings.

To my sisters and me, Christmas, Halloween, Valentine's Day, and even birthdays had been just like any other day of the year with the exception of a different morning greeting.  There had been no star-topped trees or stockings hung by the chimney.  There had been no candle-lit cakes or heart-shaped cards.  There had certainly not been any begging for treats at the houses of strangers.  We had come to accept this as reality.  We knew that Christmas was really about celebrating the birth of Jesus and that Thanksgiving was about thanking God for our blessings.  As for Halloween, we knew that our mother did not trust the candy given out by strangers on that night.  My sisters and I were well aware of our family's lack of extra money for costumes, decorations, and gifts; so it was no big deal, really.  That was just the way it was.  So when my mother called me to the living room one day that winter to meet some strangers, I was puzzled and skeptical about what I heard.

They showed me a magazine filled with pictures of brand new toys.  I could pick whatever I wanted, they said, and Santa Claus would get it for me.   "Yeah.  Right." I thought.

"Santa Claus isn't real," I proclaimed; but they continued to coax and assure me that anything I picked out of this entire magazine, Santa Claus would get it for me.

Just what were they trying to pull?  That magazine was filled with beautiful toys, and I knew that some of them had to be really expensive.  Surely they didn't mean that I could have ANYTHING.  Surely the whole thing was some kind of joke.  I continued to argue until I sensed they were starting to get tired of my stubbornness.

"Well..." I said pointing to a picture of an easel-type chalkboard that also came with a set of magnetic letters and numbers.  "I still don't believe you, but I guess if I was going to pick ANYTHING, it would be this."

Because my choice was surely expensive, I expected the strangers to admit that they had been exaggerating when they had said that I could have ANYTHING that I picked out.  I was ready to gloat about having been right about them all along; but nothing negative was said about my choice.  Instead, the strangers looked at the picture in the magazine and wrote something down on a notebook.

As I ambled from the room, I added once more for the sake of my six-year-old pride, "But I don't believe you."

I had long forgotten about our visitors by the time a few weeks later when my mother insisted that we all get dressed for what she called a "Christmas dinner."  My sisters and I exchanged bewildered glances and shrugged our shoulders in response to each other's questions.  After a long ride in a van that had come to pick us up, we were dropped off in front of a large brick building.  Inside, we found Christmas lights strung all around and several rows of tables filled with other children.  At the front of the room was a stage with a giant decorated Christmas tree surrounded by hundreds of wrapped presents.

I don't remember what we had to eat that day, but I recall it as being one of the biggest meals I had ever had.  I also remember a clown who made his way around the room pulling coins out of our ears.  He even pulled one out of my ear; although I knew it was some kind of trick, because I was sure that it wasn't in there before.  Just the same, I checked my ears every few minutes to be sure.

After the meal, the other children cheered as a man came out dressed up like Santa Claus.  He waved enthusiastically to everyone and gave a few kids hugs before stepping onto the stage and sitting in a rocking chair.  A woman on stage began to call out names, and one by one the children around me went up and sat on the man's knee.  The fake Santa asked each child some questions and then sent them to another part of the stage where they received a wrapped present.  I began to figit as I studied the stacks of presents on the stage.  I was not comfortable about the idea of sitting on a strange man's knee or about what questions he might ask; but could there possibly be something up there for me?

Before long, my name was called, and I cautiously made my way up onto the stage and allowed myself to be lifted onto the man's knee.

"Ho-Ho-Ho!  Merry Christmas!  What's your name, little girl?"  the man asked.

"Pam" I answered, almost whispering.

"And have you been a good girl this year, Pam?"

"I...guess so."  I fumbled, uncertain of the proper way to answer this sort of question.  It would have been bragging to answer "yes"; but if I answered "no" I might not get a gift.

"Well, Santa has something very nice for you, Pam!" he announced to the room as he lowered me to the floor.  "No go see that nice woman, and she will give you a present."

I headed for Santa's helper, anxious to see what my present would be.  I remembered the people who had come to my house and promised that Santa would get me anything I picked out of that magazine.  But it wouldn't be that, I thought.  It would be something else...something smaller...something cheaper.  It was still nice of them; so I determined that I would take whatever it was and thank them for it.

As I got closer, I saw that the lady was reaching for the biggest wrapped present on the stage.  It was the very one that had captivated my attention from the moment we were all told that the gifts were for us.  To my amazement, when I pulled the paper away, I found the very chalkboard and magnet set that I had picked out that day in my living room.

I later learned that our hosts that day were several local business people who had formed a group called the Hillsboro Jaycees.  Each year, the Jaycees raised money for food, clothes, and toys and presented them to the less fortunate children of Highland County, Ohio, where my family lived.  In the years that followed, my sisters and I continued to be invited to gatherings hosted by the Jaycees; and although my Christmas at six had not made me believe in a literal Santa Claus, more and more I came to believe in "good will toward men."

By Pam Keaton