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Thursday, 24 December 2009

Santa’s Helper

By Dani Ferguson of The Musings of a Middle Aged Woman

When I was a little girl, I thought my father was the smartest, bravest, most clever father in the world and that opinion was solidified the year he entertained Santa at our house.

I was five years old that Christmas and as usual, my mother bundled all of us kids up to go to church on Christmas Eve. And as usual, my dad had pressing matters that would prohibit him from joining us. So off we went leaving my father behind to tend to important matters unbeknownst to the rest of us.

After the church service, we headed back home to get ready for the arrival of Santa. Now, remember, this was long before cell phones so there was no chance to call ahead to warn my dad of our impending arrival. So as soon as we walked in the house we were met by my obviously surprised father, caught red handed in the act of putting together a doll buggy for me, his only daughter.

Without a moment’s hesitation he excitedly exclaimed, “I can’t believe you missed him! He just left a few seconds ago.”

Unanimously we inquired, “Who just left?”

“Why, Santa Claus” responded daddy as if it were an every day occurrence.

I just stood there, the youngest and most gullible of all three of his children, my eyes darting from the buggy back to my father.

He went on to explain, “I was just sitting here doing some paperwork when there was a knock at the door. Imagine my surprise when I opened it and there stood Santa Claus, his reindeer and sleigh parked in our front yard. He called me by name and said, “Earl, would you mind putting this doll buggy together for me as my sleigh is quite full and I’m afraid it will fall out. Then he said he’d be back later with the rest of the presents.”

I didn’t know whether to be happier about the buggy or the fact that MY father had just met Santa Claus and in our very own living room. I mean I knew my father was special but I had no idea he was on a first-name basis with the big guy!

Daddy finished putting the wheels on the pram and suggested we put it under the tree and then maybe, just maybe, Santa would bring a doll for the buggy. The next morning, sure enough, there was a doll sitting in it just waiting for me.

There have been Christmases since then - in fact, I have celebrated fifty-five more - but I still have that special gift from Santa sitting in my attic reminding me fondly of the Christmas when Santa’s helper got caught red-handed.

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[INVITATION: All elders, 50 and older, are welcome to submit stories for this blog. They can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, memoir, etc. Instructions for submitting are here.]

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