Saturday, December 24, 2011

S. C.

     The year my father was in Vietnam was the year I first realized that there was no Santa Claus.  I do have to give Mom credit for trying to make the effort to keep my belief alive... but in the end it was what gave it away.

     Mom had cut boot prints out of white paper and left them on the floor from the fireplace to our bedroom doors where our stockings hung on the handles, and back and forth to the Christmas tree.

     On the gift tags for the presents Santa left under the tree, she had neatly printed "To Cindi, From S.C."

     The giveaway was that at the time, we lived in Scottsdale, Arizona.  Where there was no snow on the ground at Christmas.  So while the white paper boot prints were creative... they didn't quite fool my eleven year old mind.

     Santa's initials were the other giveaway.  They just happened to be the same as my Mom's.  S. C.  could have been Santa Claus but the handwriting looked just like Sib Clarke's.

     The Santa of my childhood disappeared that year, but I never stopped believing in the magic of Christmas.  It is more than just a time of year for getting ugly homemade sweaters, rock hard fruitcake, and perfume that makes the dog want to roll on you.

     The true meaning of Christmas is the gift we were given... a child born to save us from ourselves...

21 She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.” 
~ Matthew 1:21 ~

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for stopping by and reading my words...

All comments are moderated, so they will not appear immediately.