Christmas Through a Child's Eyes by Helen Szymanski

Author:Helen Szymanski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: epub, ebook
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2008-11-18T05:00:00+00:00

Disappearing Act

BY RANDY JEAN BRUSKRUD

When I was a little girl, Santa Claus always made house calls on Christmas Eve, bringing his round-bellied cheer, along with gifts for my brother and me. On those December nights, as the scent of roasting turkey filled the kitchen and arriving relatives crowded the family room with excited chatter, I had but one goal: to keep track of my father's whereabouts. My reason being, somehow, every year, he managed to miss Santa's visit.

“We're out of film for the camera,” he'd say. “I'll just zip downtown and be back in no time. I promise.”

Meanwhile, Santa came and went while Daddy was gone.

“We need cream for the coffee, honey,” he'd shout into the living room from the kitchen, his hand already on the doorknob. “It'll only take twenty minutes for a run to the grocery store.”

Meanwhile, Santa came and went while Daddy was gone.

Year after year, no matter how hard I tried to keep him home and in my line of vision, my father thwarted my efforts every time.

This Christmas would be different, I vowed.

“Where are you going?” I demanded as he headed toward the rear of the house.

“To the bathroom,” he whispered with a sheepish grin that failed to fool me.

“No way! Use the one off the kitchen,” I suggested. “It's closer to the front door and if Santa arrives, you'll hear him.”

“Ah,” he said as he switched course. “Good idea.”

I waited outside the door, tapping my foot, confident in my plan.

“Leave your father in peace,” my mom said from the kitchen as she basted the turkey.

“I can't,” I insisted stubbornly. “It's almost time for Santa to get here, and I don't want Daddy to miss him again!”

She sighed, brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and eyed me wearily. “Don't argue, honey. I need you to set the table.”

Well, I could hardly disobey. Reluctantly, I headed for the dining room with plates and silverware. As I positioned each knife with its blade pointing in and lined up the forks and spoons with careful precision, I thought about my conversations with Santa at the mall. This year, I'd asked for a Patty Playmate doll — a doll nearly as big as me that I could dress in my own clothes. I was concerned about whether Santa would be able to fit her in his sleigh, and was glad he didn't have to bring her down our chimney.

About five minutes later, I heard a loud pounding on the front door. I gave a moment's thought to rousting my dad from the bathroom, but decided I couldn't keep Santa waiting outside in the chilly December air.

Daddy had managed to be “gone” again. But as Santa's booming presence filled the living room, I quickly forgot Dad's absence. Santa was explaining something about not being able to bring the gift I'd requested and I didn't want to miss a word of it.

“We were all out of Patty Paige dolls,” he said solemnly, “but I brought you something else I hope you'll like.

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