Silent_Quill
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Apr 28, 2002
- Posts
- 185
I find the older I get the easier you can realize things by just looking at something simple. The simplest object in the world can actually just put things in perspective, and it kinda makes you feel sheepish for not realizing it in the first place.
Tonight is the usual night my parents and I put the Christmas decorations up. It's early for most, but my mother has kinda formed a tradition of having the house decorated the week before Thanksgiving and making it look special for the younger children in my neighborhood. My Mother has always been known as "the lady with the Christmas house" in my childhood neighborhood.
As always, it was my Dad and I's job to go up in the attic, grab the twenty boxes of 500 lbs wooden chests that contained the Christmas decorations, bring all of them down and start unloading them while my Mom places everything out where she thinks it needs to be.
Alot of the things we own and put out every year are family heirlooms that have been passed down from generation to generation, alot of things are extremely old, to the point that even my grandparent's don't remember who the original owner is.
The evening progressed as normal, my Father and I laughing over old ornaments, and sometimes getting upset over ones that we knew for ourselves that were too old to be put out anymore. The last trunk was being unloaded, and the last item I pulled out almost made me cry. For within the last trunk remained a very old white and red stocking cap that my Great-Grandfather gave to me before he passed away.
Most people wouldn't get emotional over the a "Santa-style" stocking cap, but the story behind the stocking cap is what actually came flooding into my memory.
I was eight years old when I discovered there was no "Santa". It was the classic story of my parents sending me to bed, I got up for the classic "glass of water", and of course, I stumbled across my parents in the living room wrapping my presents from "Santa"...I was crushed. It was probably the worst Christmas Day of my life that next morning. I usually was awake by 7 a.m. and pulling my parents down the stairs to see what I had gotten, not that year, I stayed in bed til about 10 and was not as enthusiastic about Christmas as I usually was. I digress, however, that afternoon my whole family came over and pretty much heard the tale of what had happen the night before, I was thankful for the fact that everyone had decided to leave me alone.
Before dinner, my Mom called my Great-Grandfather to see if what time he would be leaving his house to come eat with us. My Great-Grandfather and I were close, to say the least, he was my best friend, and the one person in my life I trusted to every extent. My Mom and him chit-chatted for a little while, and I guess he had heard the news while I stayed up in my room and kinda just avoided everyone.
He arrived in his usual fashion, jovial and upbeat, the only man on this Earth who has never seen a sad day in his life. I was still up in my room when he arrive, watching television and not really doing much, and of course, he came up to my room in what I thought was his way of "cheering me up". I didn't want to hear anything like "it's a part of growing up" or any facts of life situation, I really just wanted to be alone, yet, my Grampa Norwood (great-grandfather) was not the type to leave me alone in any situaiton.
He sat down beside me and kinda just tried to make small talk. I was not really listening at the time, but his next statement kinda just shook me somewhat. Out of no where he said "You know what? I know Santa personally?" I sat up and looked at him funny. I knew what I saw the other night, and there was going to be no denying that, and I argued that point with him til I was blue in the face. Finally, he looked around to make sure no one could hear us and shut my room door and sat down next to me again. Out of his pocket he pulled the red-white stocking cap and and unfolded it. He told me the story how he and Santa had gone way back. Old school buddies from elementary school. Now, being a kid of only 8, you just know when someone's old, you could guess that they were a 1000 and stick by that guess. He told me the story of how Santa and him used to play together on the farm in Missouri where he grew up. He began pulling out of the stocking cap an old black and white picture. He pointed to it and my eyes followed, on it was a picture of my Grampa Norwood when he was probably in his 30s, and standing next to him was a man a little bit older than him with the classic Santa features, the balding head, the big stomach, the long long long white beard and white hair, and a smile that just warmed your heart for some reason. Grampa Norwood continued to weave a story about how he and Santa went into the Toy making business together (which was partially true, my Grampa did work for a toy company his whole working career) that it was Him and Santa both that hunted down the magic reindeer in the North Pole and helped find all the Elves in the world and organize them into the toy makers that they are today. The story went on to tell me how he named all the Reindeer, how he helped Santa every single Christmas when he was younger go around the world on Christmas Eve, he told me how he rode with Santa almost every Christmas.
Grampa Norwood's story continued on and on about how he talks to Santa and Mrs. Claus (who, supposedly nearly turned out to be my Great-Grandmother if Santa hadn't beaten him to it first) every Christmas Eve. They relive old times over the phone and he gets a letter from him every year. Also, my Great-Grandfather told me that he left the classic cookies and milk out every year for Santa, just as a little thank you for their friendship.
Finally, my Great-Grandfather told me how he got sick of the cold weather of the North Pole. Told me he mised fishing and swimming too much during the summer, and wanted to retire anyways (also too, my great-grandmother, who I never met, wasn't too fond of the cold weather herself), so when Grampa Norwood "retired" from working with Santa, his retirement gift from the "Claus Family" was Santa's own stocking cap. Now, I wasn't gullible to an over extent as a kid, so I immediately grabbed the stocking cap, it was old, the thing was in disrepair even when I was 8, so I knew as I held it that it was older than my Grampa Norwood himself.
We sat there and talked about Santa and the North Pole for over an hour, and he never missed a beat with my questions, he knew the answer immediately, without hesitation.
In the end he had answered all my questions, and at that moment I believed again. He told me that my parents were just pulling out the gifts that they had yet to wrap and needed me asleep so they themselves could get to bed to see what Santa had left them the next morning.
It all just seemed to fit together. He told me finally that I couldn't tell anyone. Not even my own parents because he didn't want to be swamped with requests for Santa's autograph and having to call Santa up to prove his point to everyone. He kept saying that Santa was a busy man and how would I like it if someone kept interupting me when I was trying to get my homework done. Why did I believe him? My Grampa Norwood was reknowned through our little city. His word was as good as gold, and as far as anyone was concerned, he had never told a lie in his life. So what he said was good enough for me.
I cheered up and we continued Christmas that day with my Great-Grampa and I sharing devilish smiles across the dinner table, and everyone wondering what in the world was so funny between the two of us.
Three months later, my Grampa Norwood passed away. I brought the cap and picture to the funeral and held onto it the whole time. And it's funny, I didn't cry that whole time. I kept looking at that picture of my Grampa and the man who oddly enough looked like Santa. It was just the most calming moment of my life.
Now back to present day. Time eventually caught up with me. I grew up and the magic that was Christmas just slowly faded. It was a sad thought to sit here and essentially go against everything my great-grandfather had put in my head. I think right up until I was 12 I believed, that picture and that hat was all the proof I ever needed.
Yet, tonight I look at that stocking cap sitting at the top over the fireplace and look at the picture that sits framed next to it. It just all seems to add up. I eventually told my parents that story, they never commented on it, yet no one in my family has a clue who the man in the picture standing next to my Great-Grandfather really is.
Christmas kinda just lost all that Holiday joy for me. It was just another workday for me for the most part, another reason to go eat at my folks, and another reason to put on church clothes. But the more I look at that cap and picture I keep hearing my Grampa Norwood, and the magic just seems to come back. I don't know why or how, but the more I relive that story in my head about Grampa and Santa, the more believable it gets. Part of me just yells "grow up", but mostly, that voice gets quieter and quieter as I hear my Grampa Norwood retell the story.
So now I sit back and just think: "Maybe just one more Christmas I'll believe in Santa again. Maybe one more Christmas I'll leave the milk and cookies out. Heck, maybe one more Christmas where I'll send a letter to the North Pole. And Maybe, just one more Christmas wher on Christmas Eve I'll sit outside with a pair of binoculars and watch the sky.."
So, even though this is premature and early, the "Seasons" have already begun in my family. The Holiday cheer and happiness of the holidays is quite present in my household, so with this, I wish every Literotican a very Happy Holidays and a VERY Merry Christmas to you and your kin....
Tonight is the usual night my parents and I put the Christmas decorations up. It's early for most, but my mother has kinda formed a tradition of having the house decorated the week before Thanksgiving and making it look special for the younger children in my neighborhood. My Mother has always been known as "the lady with the Christmas house" in my childhood neighborhood.
As always, it was my Dad and I's job to go up in the attic, grab the twenty boxes of 500 lbs wooden chests that contained the Christmas decorations, bring all of them down and start unloading them while my Mom places everything out where she thinks it needs to be.
Alot of the things we own and put out every year are family heirlooms that have been passed down from generation to generation, alot of things are extremely old, to the point that even my grandparent's don't remember who the original owner is.
The evening progressed as normal, my Father and I laughing over old ornaments, and sometimes getting upset over ones that we knew for ourselves that were too old to be put out anymore. The last trunk was being unloaded, and the last item I pulled out almost made me cry. For within the last trunk remained a very old white and red stocking cap that my Great-Grandfather gave to me before he passed away.
Most people wouldn't get emotional over the a "Santa-style" stocking cap, but the story behind the stocking cap is what actually came flooding into my memory.
I was eight years old when I discovered there was no "Santa". It was the classic story of my parents sending me to bed, I got up for the classic "glass of water", and of course, I stumbled across my parents in the living room wrapping my presents from "Santa"...I was crushed. It was probably the worst Christmas Day of my life that next morning. I usually was awake by 7 a.m. and pulling my parents down the stairs to see what I had gotten, not that year, I stayed in bed til about 10 and was not as enthusiastic about Christmas as I usually was. I digress, however, that afternoon my whole family came over and pretty much heard the tale of what had happen the night before, I was thankful for the fact that everyone had decided to leave me alone.
Before dinner, my Mom called my Great-Grandfather to see if what time he would be leaving his house to come eat with us. My Great-Grandfather and I were close, to say the least, he was my best friend, and the one person in my life I trusted to every extent. My Mom and him chit-chatted for a little while, and I guess he had heard the news while I stayed up in my room and kinda just avoided everyone.
He arrived in his usual fashion, jovial and upbeat, the only man on this Earth who has never seen a sad day in his life. I was still up in my room when he arrive, watching television and not really doing much, and of course, he came up to my room in what I thought was his way of "cheering me up". I didn't want to hear anything like "it's a part of growing up" or any facts of life situation, I really just wanted to be alone, yet, my Grampa Norwood (great-grandfather) was not the type to leave me alone in any situaiton.
He sat down beside me and kinda just tried to make small talk. I was not really listening at the time, but his next statement kinda just shook me somewhat. Out of no where he said "You know what? I know Santa personally?" I sat up and looked at him funny. I knew what I saw the other night, and there was going to be no denying that, and I argued that point with him til I was blue in the face. Finally, he looked around to make sure no one could hear us and shut my room door and sat down next to me again. Out of his pocket he pulled the red-white stocking cap and and unfolded it. He told me the story how he and Santa had gone way back. Old school buddies from elementary school. Now, being a kid of only 8, you just know when someone's old, you could guess that they were a 1000 and stick by that guess. He told me the story of how Santa and him used to play together on the farm in Missouri where he grew up. He began pulling out of the stocking cap an old black and white picture. He pointed to it and my eyes followed, on it was a picture of my Grampa Norwood when he was probably in his 30s, and standing next to him was a man a little bit older than him with the classic Santa features, the balding head, the big stomach, the long long long white beard and white hair, and a smile that just warmed your heart for some reason. Grampa Norwood continued to weave a story about how he and Santa went into the Toy making business together (which was partially true, my Grampa did work for a toy company his whole working career) that it was Him and Santa both that hunted down the magic reindeer in the North Pole and helped find all the Elves in the world and organize them into the toy makers that they are today. The story went on to tell me how he named all the Reindeer, how he helped Santa every single Christmas when he was younger go around the world on Christmas Eve, he told me how he rode with Santa almost every Christmas.
Grampa Norwood's story continued on and on about how he talks to Santa and Mrs. Claus (who, supposedly nearly turned out to be my Great-Grandmother if Santa hadn't beaten him to it first) every Christmas Eve. They relive old times over the phone and he gets a letter from him every year. Also, my Great-Grandfather told me that he left the classic cookies and milk out every year for Santa, just as a little thank you for their friendship.
Finally, my Great-Grandfather told me how he got sick of the cold weather of the North Pole. Told me he mised fishing and swimming too much during the summer, and wanted to retire anyways (also too, my great-grandmother, who I never met, wasn't too fond of the cold weather herself), so when Grampa Norwood "retired" from working with Santa, his retirement gift from the "Claus Family" was Santa's own stocking cap. Now, I wasn't gullible to an over extent as a kid, so I immediately grabbed the stocking cap, it was old, the thing was in disrepair even when I was 8, so I knew as I held it that it was older than my Grampa Norwood himself.
We sat there and talked about Santa and the North Pole for over an hour, and he never missed a beat with my questions, he knew the answer immediately, without hesitation.
In the end he had answered all my questions, and at that moment I believed again. He told me that my parents were just pulling out the gifts that they had yet to wrap and needed me asleep so they themselves could get to bed to see what Santa had left them the next morning.
It all just seemed to fit together. He told me finally that I couldn't tell anyone. Not even my own parents because he didn't want to be swamped with requests for Santa's autograph and having to call Santa up to prove his point to everyone. He kept saying that Santa was a busy man and how would I like it if someone kept interupting me when I was trying to get my homework done. Why did I believe him? My Grampa Norwood was reknowned through our little city. His word was as good as gold, and as far as anyone was concerned, he had never told a lie in his life. So what he said was good enough for me.
I cheered up and we continued Christmas that day with my Great-Grampa and I sharing devilish smiles across the dinner table, and everyone wondering what in the world was so funny between the two of us.
Three months later, my Grampa Norwood passed away. I brought the cap and picture to the funeral and held onto it the whole time. And it's funny, I didn't cry that whole time. I kept looking at that picture of my Grampa and the man who oddly enough looked like Santa. It was just the most calming moment of my life.
Now back to present day. Time eventually caught up with me. I grew up and the magic that was Christmas just slowly faded. It was a sad thought to sit here and essentially go against everything my great-grandfather had put in my head. I think right up until I was 12 I believed, that picture and that hat was all the proof I ever needed.
Yet, tonight I look at that stocking cap sitting at the top over the fireplace and look at the picture that sits framed next to it. It just all seems to add up. I eventually told my parents that story, they never commented on it, yet no one in my family has a clue who the man in the picture standing next to my Great-Grandfather really is.
Christmas kinda just lost all that Holiday joy for me. It was just another workday for me for the most part, another reason to go eat at my folks, and another reason to put on church clothes. But the more I look at that cap and picture I keep hearing my Grampa Norwood, and the magic just seems to come back. I don't know why or how, but the more I relive that story in my head about Grampa and Santa, the more believable it gets. Part of me just yells "grow up", but mostly, that voice gets quieter and quieter as I hear my Grampa Norwood retell the story.
So now I sit back and just think: "Maybe just one more Christmas I'll believe in Santa again. Maybe one more Christmas I'll leave the milk and cookies out. Heck, maybe one more Christmas where I'll send a letter to the North Pole. And Maybe, just one more Christmas wher on Christmas Eve I'll sit outside with a pair of binoculars and watch the sky.."
So, even though this is premature and early, the "Seasons" have already begun in my family. The Holiday cheer and happiness of the holidays is quite present in my household, so with this, I wish every Literotican a very Happy Holidays and a VERY Merry Christmas to you and your kin....
