Blogger's Note: WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM FOR AN IMPORTANT PARENTING WITH LIGHTSABERS ANNOUNCEMENT!!!! THIS IS NOT A TEST!!!!
When I wrote "Brookport", I had this idea of taking everyone on a tour of my home town on a typical day. I wanted to escort the reader from my childhood home to school and from school to the "bustling", small-town marketplace we all knew as Pat's Market. I threw in some random, whimsical memories as I recalled them to flavor the "journey". I had no idea that my retrospection would arouse so many hearts or provoke so many questions. So whatever happened to that Amy chick? Did you really create a superhero named Vibrator? Did you actually have a mayor named Gump?
So I've decided to rotate in a flashback series with my usual posts. I'm not sure how much "material" I can get to surface from my sleeping past, but I'll ride this carousel until the music stops. So tune in with my next post to catch the first installment.
The holiday season is here. I'm usually the pickle head that actually loves holidays. I love the whole Norman Rockwell-picturesque vision of rosy cheeks, steaming cups of hot chocolate, and the portrait-perfect, laughing family passing gravy boats around the dinner table. I actually have a CD in my car of my
favorite Christmas songs. Sometimes, in the middle of summer, on a leisurely drive to work, I'll throw it in the stereo as a perk-me-up.
But something happened this year.
I'm not sure what it was. I was listening to some Christmas music on the radio and started paying attention to the lyrics. And I began to realize that Christmas is nothing like that.
I don't know. Maybe I'm over-thinking it. But who roasts chestnuts? I don't have any carolers at my door. Who can afford all of these toys? The Christmas that these songs describe isn't the Christmas that I know. And everybody says, well, Christmas isn't about money or toys or gifts. And, yet, those same people will be giving and receiving presents this year. I guarantee it. You may think Christmas isn't about all that material stuff, but try and have a Christmas without it. Even a small amount of it. And good luck with that.
Christmas is the season of giving.
I'm not judging anybody. Hell, I'll be buying gifts for my family this year. I'm just saying not to be self-righteous about it. We're all guilty. And that's not a problem that I would have any insight on how to fix. But, I think that I understand why the suicide rate is so high this time of year. And that's the people that I dearly hope know the facts. We're all stressing right now. You're in good company. Try not to get too down. Try not to get too deep in debt. Try to find someone to spend the holidays with. I'm not saying anything new; it's the same ol' song and dance. And, after all of that, if you're still hanging by just a thread. Then, just hang on to that. And hang tough. You can do it. Piss on everything else.
What I am about to share with you will make no sense. I will contradict myself. Please assign no logic to anything.
I don't recall believing in Santa Claus. I believed in Rudolph. And maybe even Frosty. But not Santa.
But I knew that the real Santa resided at the old mall. In Paducah, where the southside Walmart is now located, a humble mall with lots of character once stood. I don't recall its name. Once the modern Kentucky Oaks Mall opened, I began calling the original one the "old mall" (conversely, I'd call the KY Oaks mall the "new mall" for years to come).
A K-Mart guarded one end of the "old mall." I doubt if there were even ten stores inside.
I remember a popcorn store. It had all these magnificently flavored popcorn choices; and, if you bought one of their tins, you could have it refilled at a discount. I remember a Radio Shack and a Woolworth's and this novelty shop that I would visit because of their selection of gag gifts. The most terrific thing they sold was this tube that had a spring-loaded snake inside. When you took off the lid to this tube, the "snake" would spring free. I fantasized about all the people I could prank if I owned that novelty! I could have told my friends that I had some peanuts. Just help yourself. And then GOTCHYA!!! Oh, that would've been a splendid prank. Sadly, I'd never own the snake-in-a-tube prank.
*sniffle*
The most exciting thing about the "old mall" however was the arcade. They had the coolest arcade ever. I remember Pac-man and Ms Pac-man and Dig Dug and Donkey Kong and my favorite: Donkey Kong Jr. Mom would give me a handful of quarters and do some shopping, and I prayed that she would stay gone for a long, long time.
During Christmas-time, a waist-high fence squared in a high-backed, festive throne in the middle of the "old mall." On this throne sat Santa Claus. Not just any Santa Claus (hell, there were Santa's all over Paducah). This was the Santa. How do I know that? Because, one year, when my brother and I were quite young, we visited this Santa. We each sat on a different knee, prepared to tell him our wish list of toys. And before we could begin speaking, he said, "Have you been a good boy this year, Duane?"
After the amazement that he knew my name passed, I found my voice. "How do you know my name?" I asked.
"Because I'm Santa Claus. Ho-ho-ho!!!" he replied.
I never stopped to think that Mom might have given him our names. Hell, I might've been wearing a shirt that had "Duane" embroidered on my collar. Maybe he had overheard my brother calling me by my name just before we climbed onto his knee. I didn't consider any of that. I was just amazed that he knew my name. So, that was the real Santa.
Strangely, however, I didn't believe in Santa. I know, I know. That doesn't make any sense. Mom always supported the Theory of Santa's Existence. But I just never subscribed to it.
The thing was that Mom would hide our presents in the closet; and, then, when she'd have time, she'd wrap them and throw them under the tree. I usually knew what I was getting before the Big Day. The night before Christmas, just before we'd climb in bed, Mom would assert that we'd better stay in bed or "Santa might not come." To which, I'd think, 'What in the hell are you talking about? The presents are already under the damn tree!'
Her half-hearted ruse didn't fool me or my brother. But we'd play along; because, well, hell, she did buy us presents and all that.
But, didn't I just say that I believed that the Santa at the "old mall" was the real Santa? Well, yes. Yes, I did. And, I know. That doesn't make any sense. I suppose that I would suspend my disbelief while we were at the "old mall" just long enough to have a chat with Jolly, Ol' Saint Nick.
But I did believe in Rudolph. You know those red lights that flash on the top of radio towers. I'd see those and wonder if that was Rudolph. Thanks to the splendid world of claymation and some major network Christmas specials, I fell in love with Rudolph (and Frosty the Snowman, too). What if that one Christmas Eve wouldn't have been foggy? He would have still been picked on, and Santa would have been none the wiser. Such a close call! And thanks to the fact that red lights can apparently penetrate fog, my favorite reindeer friend was now a hero!
Unfortunately, elsewhere in the world, I had friends whose parents were a little more clever than my mother. They really covered their bases when it came to the whole "believing in Santa Claus" mythos. They would wait until Christmas Eve night after bedtime to put the gifts under the tree, to fill the stockings, to "eat" the milk and cookies. And being good, honest, true-believing kids, they had fallen for it.
DJ was one of the kids that had been heartbroken by the truth. I had honestly not realized how much he had believed in Santa. And I was as guilty of feeding the dragon as anyone. I remember him asking me how Santa could get into my apartment when I didn't have a chimney. I had told him "Santa was magic". I only saw him every other weekend, so I didn't know how "deep" the hole had been dug. I thought that he was just "playing" along with us to feed our parental desire to have fun with the whole idea. I would find out later that he was crushed once he found out the truth.
One of my closest friends told me stories of how he had wholeheartedly believed in Santa, and how badly his heart had been broken the day he had found out that it was all a big lie. It was all a big lie.
With clever-enough parents and some well thought-out "pranks", some children are fed the whole magic and mystery spoonful by heaping spoonful. I know the whole "Santa is the spirit of Christmas" bologna. But that's bullshit. If you really want to tell your child that "Santa is the spirit of Christmas", then tell him or her the truth.
The truth: Santa is the spirit of Christmas. He is not a real man. He does not really live at the North Pole. Flying reindeer do not exist. Elves are from stories. He is an idea.
This propaganda has been on my mind of late.
The other day, Joanna was at work, and I had taken Amelia and Roman to the "new mall". As we passed the center of the mall, we noticed that the whole Santa's Workshop station had been set up -complete with waving Santa and helper-Elf lady. For the first time in his life, Roman took a marked notice in Santa Claus.
We passed at a rare moment when no other children were around. "Saint Nick" saw Roman's starry eyes watching him with wonder, so Santa politely waved and motioned for my son to "come and see him."
"Do you wanna go see Santa?" I asked Roman. He emphatically nodded. I pushed the stroller to where I could keep Amelia near; I took Roman's hand; and, we approached the Big Man in Red.
"Come here young man," Santa encouraged.
Roman got closer than I actually thought he would before his lips started to pucker. He looked to me to help him out of this "mistake"; so, of course, I hooked him up.
"Well, looks like maybe next year," I told Santa with a smile. So keep your $20 Polaroid, I wanted to add.
Of course, Santa was nice, though. He gave Roman a coloring book, and Roman said thank you.
So that's where we are. I haven't even discussed this with Joanna. But, I am seriously not sure if I want to trick my son into believing there's a Santa. Maybe I'm taking this joke too seriously.
I'd really like to do the wholesome approach. I'd like to teach him about the importance of friends and family during the holidays. Perhaps I'll lead by example and show how we can help the needy.
More than likely, I'll put a big bow on a toy train and say "happy now?"
Or, maybe I'll put a bunch of crushed, empty beer cans all over the kitchen, kick over the Christmas tree, hide Toodles, and say, "Look what Santa did!!!!"
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| Roman's first actual encounter with Santa |
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