Santa’s Annual Headache

Bad acting didn’t ruin our Christmas

Like many families back in the old country, my family celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve when I was growing up. It was in the evening of Christmas Eve that Santa came and when we opened presents.

It was the one day of the year my siblings and I could not wait for the sun to go down because none of the festivities started until then. Every Christmas Eve we went through the exact same routine.

First came dinner. Every single solitary year our mother would make salmon croquettes for Christmas Eve dinner. It was the only day of the year that we ever ate salmon. (Of course it wasn’t fresh salmon but rather salmon out of a can.) According to our mother it was against the law to eat meat on Christmas Eve or on Fridays which is why she served us fish sticks every single solitary Friday of the year. I never understood why fish isn’t considered meat but I certainly never complained. I was a kid and I ate anything and everything placed before me.

After dinner it was time for the family to go for a drive to look at Christmas lights. But first our mother would set out a tiny glass of milk and a plate with one cookie on it for Santa. When we returned home the glass of milk would be empty and the cookie would be gone; it was indisputable scientific proof that Santa had been there.

And then every single year just as we were about to head out of the house for the drive our mother would put the back of her hand against her forehead and say, “Oh dear, I think I’m coming down with a headache. I better go upstairs and take a nap. You guys go without me.”

Then our father would say, “Well, be sure to close the bedroom door so Santa doesn’t know you’re here. You know he won’t come if there is anyone awake in the house.”

“Yes, dear.”

Every single year our mother would come down with a headache at the exact same time.

Just before leaving the house I would look at the Christmas tree which did not have a single present underneath it. I knew that when we got home that Santa will have filled that space with lots and lots of presents.

So our father took us four kids on a drive; usually for at least an hour, sometimes longer. The highlight of the drive was when we drove through the rich people’s neighborhood over by the country club. It’s like all the millionaires were in a competition to see who could put the most lights and decorations on their homes. Traffic was bumper to bumper going through this neighborhood because the lights and decorations were so outrageous. We kids figured that all the kids in all those cars were anxiously waiting, like us, for Santa to bring gifts to their houses.

It wasn’t long before we kids got antsy and pleaded with our father to go home. He would tell us that Santa had a lot of gifts to deliver to a lot of homes, that we had to be sure to give him enough time.

When we finally got back home we kids would rush in and go to the Christmas tree, which, lo and behold, suddenly had lots and lots of presents underneath it. Then we’d look at the milk glass and cookie plate and they would be empty.

Santa had come! Santa had come! Santa had come!

Just then our mother would come down the stairs stretching and yawning as though she just woke up from her nap.

Seriously, my parents were both really, really bad actors. We kids could see right through their little annual charade. Of course we never said anything. We just played along with the game. After all, we didn’t want to get coal in our stocking the next morning.

We kids then went to our rooms to get the presents we had bought for each other and our parents and then put them under the tree along with Santa’s presents.

No presents were allowed to be opened, though, until the family sang a few Christmas carols together. This was the one part of Christmas that I did not care for. For one thing, I have zero singing ability. I can’t sing to save my life. But also, no one in my family has any singing ability. It was like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Then it was time for presents. While our father sat in his chair observing everything, we kids and our mother got on the floor around the Christmas tree. Our mother would hand out one present at a time to be opened. It seemed to take forever.

After all the presents were finally opened our mother would put on a Christmas record; usually either Perry Como or Dean Martin, her favorite singers. Then she would serve everyone in the family shrimp cocktail in a little glass bowl with a tiny little spoon. It was the one and only time of the year we ever ate shrimp (which apparently is not meat). This was one of my favorite things about Christmas. I could have eaten twenty of those little bowls of shrimp cocktail. It is so yummy. It’s actually one of the few Christmas traditions that I’ve tried to keep alive throughout my life.

We were a lucky family because Santa came to our house twice each Christmas; once while we were looking at Christmas lights on Christmas Eve and then again early the next morning to fill our stockings. Our Christmas stockings were always filled mostly with fruit and nuts. “He” filled them with oranges and apples and tangerines and pears along with walnuts and pecans and maybe a candy bar or some bubble gum. At the bottom of the stocking would be one tiny little cheap toy. It was so anticlimactic from the night before. But it did start the day out with at least some joy.

Christmas Day was a day to play with our new toys. It was a truly wonderful day. My childhood Christmases may sound a little weird but they were never weird to me. They were always magical to me and I loved everything about them — well, except for the singing. To a child Christmas is always special and magical no matter the traditions. It is only after we grow up that we start judging past Christmases.

But as a child I had the best darn Christmases ever! Bad acting and bad singing never ruined things for me. And as an adult I choose to remember them for the great joy they brought me. And now I strive to pay it forward to the children in my life.

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.

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