I actually have quite a few very vivid memories of Santa in person. It seems like many of them are jarring, so I’ll just start with the one that always comes to mind first. Don’t get me wrong, I do love and believe in Santa Claus.
There is really no reason why I shouldn’t just adore to be with Santa in person and here are 10 to support that statement.
- He’s a man.
- He’s always so up.
- He wears my favorite color.
- I love black boots and wear them often.
- He’s got the perfect wife.
- He has always written me great thank you notes about the green wreaths and nutty nougats we left with our lists by the fireplace. That is, he has beautiful manners.
- I love his haircolor.
- I admire a man who can manage a factory such as he does and like that he favors little people as workers.
- I, too, wore stocking caps with pom poms on the end.
- Think he was very progressive with the faux fur.
So, that being said, here’s the story and I’ll make it kind of shorter at least:
We were in Hays at my Grandparents house down the street from Fort Hays University. It was picture perfect setting, 60s contemporary stone fireplace across one end of the living room with bar hidden within the paneling, a beautiful huge tree in their tall-ceiling living room library. And nightgowns hand-made by my other GrandaMartha in Kansas City.
I think the man who channeled Santa Claus’s name was Ed something. Maybe my mom or dad will post his name. I remember the doorbell ringing. And in he walked. He looked probably the best I have ever seen him look. And I was excited in a good way. Until he came in and sat down on that chair. Then I knew something was making me uneasy. You can see in this picture that I am wringing my hands.
I often have a hard time identifying my emotions until way after event, sometimes even years, fear in particular. So, we talked to Santa for a bit. I answered his questions and made it through my performance anxiety syndrome which flares up whenever I get put on the spot, practically anytime I am with people.
And then it was time for the picture. He was crouched in front of the tree and I was standing by his knee, closest to Santa. Santa put his arm around me and placed it on my hip. And then I knew why I was so nervous. Being taught that it was more healthy to go to bed without panties, there was really only this thin flannel membrane between me and Santa’s hand. I think he had even taken off his glove.
I do know I made it through without losing my composure. And honestly, it’s only just now after having flashbacks of this for years that am understanding why and linking together these images and feelings. So I have no real conclusion to this story. But, I do think that I was ahead of my time in sensing when to be leery of men. I am my parents’ daughter and it has served me well on most occasions. I am not suggesting any inappropriate behavior by this Santa; this was in the early 60s and things were different then. Or not.
So while there is always a time for a mother to lecture, “Lacy, you CANNOT wear any underwear with that red dress,” there is also a time for mother’s words at Christmas.
advice: to girls, young and old,
on Christmas Eve and when visiting a shopping mall
where Santa might ask you to sit on his lap.
Wear your big girl underpants.
And, if Santa exhibits any inappropriate behavior,
tell him to keep his hands to himself.
Addenda, as that was a bit too harsh.
How about, “Santa, just keep it above the waist?”