It
was the year that I was questioning in my mind whether there really was a
Santa Claus. I don't remember exactly how old I was (I'm sure it was
somewhere before the age of 18!), but I do remember the day my younger
brother and I were bouncing and rolling a ball back and forth in the
living room. It was just a few days before Christmas and even though I was
questioning whether Santa Claus existed, just to be on the safe side, I
had made a list of what I wanted Santa Claus to bring me. At the top of my
list was a beautiful doll I had seen in one of the store windows. And now,
back to my memory . . .
As my brother rolled
the ball back to me, It went right on by and into my parents bedroom,
rolling under their bed. To retrieve the ball, I went into the bedroom and
got down on my belly to creep under the bed. And guess what I found! There
were several boxes and packages under the bed; some were wrapped in
colorful Christmas paper, and some were not. The ball was resting right
next to a box with a cellophane top. Through the cellophane I could see
something that looked very familiar. Inside the box was the beautiful doll
I had admired in the store window!
It didn't take me
long to put two and two together. I figured out that if there really was a
Santa Claus, he surely wasn't storing all his gifts under my parent's bed,
but if my parents were really Santa Claus, this was a perfect place for
them to hide and store these precious gifts. Without disturbing the box, I
retrieved the ball and went back into the living room.
I
never said anything to anyone about my discovery, but was anxiously
waiting for Christmas morning to see if this doll would appear beneath the
Christmas tree. If it were there, this would confirm my belief . . . or
disbelief in Santa Claus. And as we all know, on Christmas morning the
beautiful doll was carefully arranged beneath the tree.
I
must say I remember having very mixed emotions that day. While I was
grieving the loss of Santa Claus, and the loss of excitement on Christmas
morning hoping the gift I had wished for would be there, I was also celebrating a part of me that
was growing up.
I did survive this Christmas
trauma, but from that day forward I never tried to guess what I was
getting for Christmas - even if someone wanted me to guess. I still do not
touch or handle the presents under the tree because I do not want to even
suspect what the gift might be. In this way, I can retain the excitement
of opening my gift and discovering something I never expected . . . the
little girl part of me that still wants to experience the excitement of
Christmas morning!
P.S. I named my beautiful doll
Penelope (quite a mouthful for a little girl), but nicknamed her Penny.
Penny was the last doll I received for Christmas, and she sat on my bed
for many, many years after that. I am really sad to say that somewhere
along the way of growing up, Penny disappeared, and I would give anything
to have her back again today.
