Today is Wednesday, December 29th, 2004; Karen's Korner #448

Day before yesterday's Chicken Soup for the Soul:
 
Santa Redeemed
By Jean Bronaugh

     Typically, young kids start out believing in Santa Claus, then learn later that Santa was just their grandpa dressed in a red suit.  Me, I was onto the truth pretty quickly.  As a savvy seven-year-old, I knew that Santa Claus was just another adult scam.  Anyone could see that.  The problem was that as the two oldest grandchildren, my sister and I were expected to help convince the younger grandchildren that Santa was real.  I went along with this farce reluctantly.  "You ask for what you want, and Santa brings it to you," I would say, dutifully.
     But how could I, or anyone else for that matter - young or old - be expected to believe it?  Life just wasn't like that.  You didn't get what you wanted.  You got what you didn't want.  Look at us.  We had recently lost our dad, and now, after thirteen years of staying at home, Mom had to go out and look for a job.  This was tough.  Mom had few qualifications for the world of work.  She had been raised during the Great Depression, and had dropped out of school at an early age to help support the family.  Not only had she little education, she had limited experience and no special training.
     For months she searched unsuccessfully for work as we sank further and further into poverty.  Mom was unable to hold on to the home that Dad had built, and a relative in another town allowed us to live in a back room of her home for a while.  The family car disappeared into the night as the repo man performed his duties.  Thus Mother's options were further limited to jobs that were within walking distance.
     In our new town, there were a number of bars that could be reached on foot, but Mother believed that her working in a bar would not be good for her children.  So she continued the search.
     As Christmas approached, Mother planned to take my sister and me to the school festival.  Admission was free, and we could walk there.  After we had spent some time looking around, Mother asked us to get in line to talk to Santa, which was the only activity you could do for nothing.  I got in line, just to please her.
     After Santa lifted me onto his lap, he asked what my Christmas wish was.  It didn't really matter what I told him, because I knew Santa was just somebody's grandpa dressed in a red suit.  Naming a toy would only sadden my mother because she couldn't afford any toys.  I decided to tell the truth.  "My wish is that my mother would get a job so we can buy groceries," I said in a bold voice.
     "And where is your mother?" Santa asked.  I pointed her out.  "Ho, ho, ho," said Santa, "I'll see what I can do."
     Why do they always say ho, ho, ho? I thought.
     A few days after Christmas, the phone rang and Mother picked it up.  There was a brief conversation. "Yes...yes...oh, I would love to, yes...All right...Good-bye."
     She turned to my sister and me with a smile that I hadn't seen in a while.
     "I've been offered a job in the school," she said, her voice rising with excitement.  "In the lunch room.  Now we're going to be all right."  She hugged us both.  Then she added, "I wonder how they knew I needed a job?"
     Later I found out that Santa Claus, whether he is your grandpa in a red suit or the school superintendent doing his bit at the Christmas festival, is not such a scam after all.
     And the following Christmas I told the younger kids that if they didn't believe in him they were really missing out.


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