It was a shock to discover there was no Santa Claus! Nonetheless, there was compensation for the truth.
I was six years old and approaching the halfway mark in the first grade.
Kindergarten hadn't been invented yet, so a youngster's first encounter with education came with a sudden plunge into reading primers, push- pull penmanship, spelling bees and other hard realties of life.
The cotton crops had been poor that year in Boot Heel Missouri. Credit tabs at the general store still had not been fully paid off for the previous season. There were eight or nine months ahead before there would be any prospect of cash money.
Mr. Avery, owner of our general store, struggled along with his customers. It was the necessity imposed by Mother Nature occasionally.
Usually the next crop was bountiful, as if God tried to make up for the hardships that chance sometimes inflicted.
Mr. Avery went to the bank and took out a loan so he could carry his customers until next picking season.
Awesome Avery
We kids were awed, if not frightened, by Mr. Avery. His face was marked with smallpox scars. His voice was deep and gruff. He never smiled.
When I had to go alone to the store for a can of Pet milk for Mother, or a box of snuff for Grandma Lindsey, I stated my business in a small voice, murmured "Charge it," and skedaddled.
Once he refused to sell me a top because I wanted the deluxe ball-bearing-tipped model costing 10 cents. I had only a nickel, the going rate for a spike-point.
In retaliation, I piled empty boxes against the store's door. Mr. Avery told my mother I "surely would land in jail before I was 21."
Toy Prospects
Economic prospects being what they were, Mr. Avery's stock of small toys that could be put on the cuff was not moving very fast.
Languishing in his glass case were highly desired treasures -- jack knives, jump ropes, marbles, miniature tea sets, tops, jacks, baby dolls, harmonicas, hair ribbons, bouncing balls, kites and -- most desired of all -- little $1 automobiles with wheels that went around.
Playing "cars" was my passion.
Bleak Prospects
Christmas was going to be hardscrabble.
Not that this was a tragedy of modern proportions. One or two small toys and a stocking with hard Christmas candy, two or three English walnuts, an orange and a packet of "penny" firecrackers was a satisfactory haul.
Christmas was every big as July 4 for
fireworks.
Still, there was widespread dismay amongst first-graders -- especially the farm kids -- who expected even less than usual.
It was with great satisfaction, therefore, that we heard Mrs. Bowman -- the matriarch who presided over first grade -- announce that Santa Claus would pay us a visit and bring presents.
Getting Ready
What excitement there was that week as we decorated a holly tree Mrs. Bowman had cut in the woods.
We made endless chains of colored paper. We cut out a galaxy of stars from Hershey Bar tin foil that our sainted teacher had saved throughout the year for the occasion.
We fashioned a bushel basket of curls by scraping ribbons with the backside of a scissors.
One day, Mrs. Bowman brought a large sack of popped corn, needles and thread. We spent hours stringing pop-corn rope for our homemade Christmas tree -- sneaking a few kernels to eat as we worked away.
My ratio was one for the tree and one for me -- another of my passions being popped corn.
The Big Day
On the Big Day, Mrs. Bowman brought dozens of clips and little candles. Carefully we snapped them on the holly tree, taking pains not to prick our fingers on the sharp leaf spines and not to get the tips of candles close to another branch.
By this time, expectation had grown to fever pitch.
"Ho, ho, ho!" boomed a hearty voice out in the hall.
"Hurry, children, we must light the candles. I hear Santa coming."
We crowded around, giggling and squealing with delight as Mrs. Bowman lit the candles.
In strode Santa with red suit, white beard and bulging gunny sack.
"Merry Christmas every one," he bellowed.
Disillusionment
"He's a fake," whispered Joe Henry to his nearby classmates.
"He is not," snapped Mary Lou. "You just hush up."
Santa took the chair of honor alongside our beautiful Christmas tree. He allowed as how it was just about the prettiest he had ever seen.
We sang Jingle Bells" and "Away In A Manager," then lined up before Santa to get our gifts.
As Santa leaned forward to pick up his sack, his fluffy beard of cotton brushed against a candle. Instantly the beard burst into flame.
"Look out!" yelled Santa, leaping to his feet and snatching off the burning beard.
There were shrieks of fright, then disbelief. Santa was Mr. Avery! Known by one and all.
"I told you so," said Joe Henry.
"Bawwww!" cried Mary Lou.
Enlightenment I was bewildered.
I suspected there was no Santa. Yet, I wanted to believe and so had maintained the faith against skeptics such as Joe Henry who enjoyed exposing the mysteries of life.
Mrs. Bowman perceived our shock.
She shepherded us back to our seats, took Mary Lou onto her lap and explained:
"No, children, there is not a magic Santa Claus who comes down our chimneys on Christmas Eve. But there is a real spirit of Christmas in our hearts which we call Santa Claus because we sometimes are too bashful to tell folks we like them enough to give them a gift."
She glanced quickly at Mr. Avery sucking a blister on his hand.
"The spirit of Christmas is much more wonderful," Mrs. Bowman continued. "It is fun to make believe there is a Santa Claus even when you know it is really your parents -- or an unknown friend -- who loves you."
The Pay Off
We all felt better and thanked Mr. Avery warmly as he handed each of us a small bag of mixed hard candy. Included was a dime in a twist of paper for a surprise.
No Christmas present has ever meant so much. I spent my dime to buy a ball-bearing top that I soon lost in a knock-top match to a spike- pointer.
Another lesson of life learned the hard way.
I hope that somewhere up in that Great General Store in the sky, Mr. Avery knows the little hoodlum he gave a dime to that Christmas long ago didn't become a jailbird after all.
.
Click here to see this article on Lindsey Williams's website
.
Lindsey Williams is a Sun columnist who can be contacted at: Website: http://www.lindseywilliams.org with several hundred of Lin's Editorial & At Large articles written over 40 years. Also featured in its entirety is Lin's groundbreaking book "Boldly Onward," that critically analyzes and develops theories about the original Spanish explorers of America. (fully indexed/searchable) |
RSS Feed (xml)
No comments:
Post a Comment