Christmas Tales: daddy's and daughters...A Story by Brada christmas memoryThere are things that a father shares with his daughter that warms the most hardest of male hearts. It’s something between magic and truth and can never be repeated. It was December 24th, I was married at the time and my wife was working overnights. My oldest wanted to spend Christmas Eve with her grandmother and my youngest wanted to spend the evening with me. So it was just Kathryn or Skoot as I have nicknamed her and I on Christmas Eve. She was 8 then and still believed in Santa Claus. Throughout the evening she kept asking me about the fat guy who flew around on Christmas Eve as if I were an expert on Clausology. She and her inquisitive sister have always kept me on my toes when it came to topics like this. Q: Does he live in the north pole all year round? A: Yes, except for the month of May. Santa enjoys spring and likes to spend his spring trips in the Adirondacks when the flowers are in full bloom. Q: Why don’t Santa and Mrs. Santa have any kids? A: For one, Santa is much too busy organizing things for Christmas Eve to spend ample amount of time raising children. He thinks the children of the world as his own. Q: How come some of my toys I get from Santa say “made in china” and not “made in the north pole”? A: Because, honey, a lot of the components used to make your toys from Santa come from china. Because of this, I.S.O. standards dictate that Santa or his elves must put a “made in china” sticker on them, even though they are assembled in the North Pole. The questions were endless and always different each year. But I’ve always wanted to keep the spirit of Santa alive in my daughters because innocence is something we all wish we could have kept from childhood. To watch that belief die is something hard for a parent to watch. I even wrote them letters from Santa answering the ones they sent him. Yes, it was exhausting, but to me that kind of thing was fun to do. This particular night, Skoot and I were baking cookies. “What kind of cookies do you think Santa likes?” Skoot had asked me. “Errm…chocolate chip with walnuts, I would imagine.” I answered slyly. So that’s what we made, some for santa and some for us, all the while Christmas music blaring in the kitchen. Skoot double checked her stocking to make sure there was ample room for lots of treats. She wrote up a place card to put in front of the plate of cookies. “For Santa”. It was 10pm and we had laid out the cookies and milk. Thanks goes to Google Earth and NORAD for tracking Santa. We watched on my laptop as Santa’s sleigh zoomed across the stratosphere from city to city, nation to nation, country to country, continent to continent until he had made his way to Minnesota. Skoot squealed with delight, “Oh my god, Santa’s in Minnesota!!!” “We better put Daisy in her kennel so she doesn’t bite santa.” I suggested. Daisy, our wiemeriner, was extremely protective of our home and Skoot was afraid Santa would become her chew toy. We kenneled Daisy and shut off all the lights in the house save the chrismas lights on the tree and throughout the house. On the laptop, Santa was an hour away in Mankato, MN. We snapped it closed and ran for her bedroom. She had me sit by her bed to hold her hand. She was shaking with anticipation it was so cute. “Won’t Santa know we’re awake?” she realized worried, “It says so in the song?” “Only when kids are awake, honey, so hurry…off to la la land.” I knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Just then, there was a noise from the roof which set Daisy barking like a fool. I jumped. Perhaps it was a branch, it was very windy out, and I had two birch trees that overhung my roof. “Oh my god, daddy, he’s here!!” she whispered in a squeal. “Shhhhhhhh…” I have to admit I was kinda scared because if a fat guy in a red suit showed up in my living room I was going piss my pants and kick it from a heart attack. After Daisy calmed down I heard it. Skoot probably before me because she gasped before I even registered it. It was the sound of a jingle bell. I felt my heart thudding in my chest. There was rustling and soft thudding going on outside the door of Skoot’s bedroom. Not realizing it was our cats playing in the tree with the ornaments (one of them being said jingle bell) and wrestling throughout the living room. Then all noises ceased. We sat there in the silence for a bit. Skoot looked out her bedroom window to see if she could catch Santa flying away. “I think I saw him!” she whispered with her wide blue eyes. “Try to sleep, honey, I’ll go see what he left.” “Can I come too?” “In the morning, baby. It’s time for little girls to go to sleep.” I tucked her in tight and kissed her on the forehead. “Good night.” I said. “Good night, daddy.” She said back. The next hour was spent pulling gifts from hiding that read “From Santa” on them and putting them under the tree. As I was getting out the stocking stuffers from the kitchen cupboard, Skoot walked out of her room. “What did he leave, daddy?” she asked with sleepy eyes. “You can see in the morning, baby, go to bed.” “I have to go potty.” As she went into the bathroom I stuffed the stockings as quick as I could. I ate the cookies and drank the milk. I left a thank you card from Santa by the plate. The toilet flushed and I heard the sink turn on as she washed her hands. I quickly grabbed my coffee mug and sat on the couch as if I were drinking hot chocolate. She came out trying to peek around the corner. “Skooter!” I scolded playfully, “No peeking till Christmas morning! Off to bed!!” She giggled her way back to her room. “I can’t wait to tell Una and mom!!” she said before closing her door. “Good night, honey.” I said again. “Good night, daddy.”
© 2010 BradAuthor's Note
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