Dear Santa

11-29_christmas_mailbox_t670The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
~by Clement Clarke Moore (1799 – 1863)

“If you don’t believe you don’t get anything” That’s my mother’s rule, and it became my rule for my own children. Well, I had a couple rules actually: 1. believe 2. write a letter 3. give 10 toys to the children’s ward (you got so you give) 4. don’t ask for anything that has a commercial on repeat—be yourself & want your own things, rather than what they want you to want. Simple rules really. But that first one? The second? Those were the winners growing up, and no matter how old I get, I follow the rules.

I’ve been writing letters to Santa since I could hold a crayon. At some point, I stopped putting them on the fridge or giving them to mom, but I have continued, for decades, to address the north pole with my yearly plea for approval, reward for good behavior, and that one thing I just have to have.

I’ve been thinking about those letters a lot since I put mine for this year into the mailbox a couple weeks ago. I remember the smell of the kitchen the year I knelt by the stockings and wrote the letter to Santa when we lived in the house now torn down. I remember the wind howling outside as I wrote the letter the following year. And I remember that I asked for the same thing both years but didn’t get it. I remember being disappointed, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what it was I had asked for.

I’ve always asked for strange things. I blame Miracle of 34th Street. I rarely asked for something that could be purchased. I tend to ask for things only the universe, or Santa, could provide. Something magical, rather than something to send my mom into a rush of humans all being helped by an angry minimum wage worker who really just wants to get their own shopping done. One year I asked for world peace and a million dollars. Unfortunately, I was grown and gone and said this request over the phone rather than sending mom a letter—allowing her to hear the words rather than read them. And well, she’s my mom. Ever wonder why I’m weird? Blame her… I got this in the mail:

worldpeace

Yeah, she’s real funny…

I remember a lot of presents I’ve gotten over the years. I remember a lot of wishes and wants and requests. And while I still cannot remember what that was I asked for repeatedly so long ago, I know what I asked for this year. Another repeat request. Third year running, actually. Let’s see if I can get that Miracle of 34th Street response…

Dear Santa,

I’ve eaten all my vegetables and even re-tested some I previously shunned. I have been kind when I really didn’t want to, because my name is Kelli not Karma, and I know better than to try and do her job for her. I have tried really hard to shut my mouth and listen to others. You know what I want. And I believe in your abilities to come through…

~ Silly little gypsy girl

My mom believes. My siblings and kids believe (rules is rules). Heck, Audrey Hepburn believed in a lot of things (“I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.”)—I can only assume Santa was also on her list. Do you believe? And if so, what did you ask Santa for? Do you remember what you asked for as a child?

May you all get your Christmas wishes… Merry Christmas, everyone!

One Response to Dear Santa

  • Alyn says:

    Yes, I absolutely believe in Santa Claus. Always have, always will…

    All I want for Christmas this year is to be free of the mortgage on the house I bought with my ex so many years ago (Hopefully without going to court) and a clean bill of health.

    As a kid, I wanted a Rock ‘N Curl Jem Doll…

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