"The Christmas Picture ~ 1961" (Authonomy Christmas Anthology)


by
Gretchen Steen

The hustle and bustle of the holiday always arrived, it began after Thanksgiving. The extravagant dinner was planned weeks in advance. The shopping seemed never-ending. This Christmas, in 1961, it was Jane’s turn to be hostess, with Jack’s unwavering help. The whole family would be together again, just like every other year.

The meager gifts were hidden so the children wouldn’t find them. The oldest, Margaret, now 9 years-old, had figured it all out the year before, and concluded that Santa Claus was ‘just a fat old man with white hair and itchy whiskers in a red suit’. Although she knew the truth, it was not revealed to her younger siblings, Craig, 5, and Abigail, 4 … they still ‘believed’.

Even as the snow fell on the quiet little town of Richton, they had to venture out. It was “Picture with Santa Day” at Sears and Roebuck. Each year it was a tradition. Every season, as the children grew, the pictures had become more precious. From the terrified screams and crocodile tears to the wide-eyed awe, the priceless expressions changed.

This year was no different. The aisles had been rearranged to make room for ‘his’ house, neatly tucked in the corner of the toy department. All the parents and their children crowded into the waiting area, and made futile attempts to quiet the calls ‘I want a Barbie … Can I ask him for a new bicycle? … New Crayons and coloring books … Puzzles and blocks …’ the little voices mingled.

Santa sat in his big, plump chair, his ‘HO! HO! HO!’ bellowing, as the photographer snapped the shots of children ‘confiding their dire requests’. Margaret, claiming profoundly to her parents, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m too old to sit on his lap, I’ll just take them up,’ guiding Craig and Abigail through the gathering and up the rickety wire steps. They stood in line, waiting their turn. Craig was patient, considering he was the family ‘ramrod’, and Abigail crossed her arms, showing her profound dissatisfaction in having to wait.

“Why can’t we just go see him!” the four-year-old said sternly, her head cocked and eyebrows puckered. Craig kept quiet, but nodded his agreement vehemently.  Margaret had her hands full. Gently but firmly she turned them around to face the ‘jolly old elf’.

“Keep your voices down, if you can’t behave, we’ll just go home … with NO pictures. Is that what you want?” she whispered, trying not to be too harsh.

Their small voices floated up to her ears, “No …” as ‘big brother’ shoved a pointed elbow into ‘little sister’. It was their normal routine, badger and tease, and it never stopped. Turning toward him, her arms firmly crossed, she scowled as only a four-year-old can and uttered ‘HUMPF!’

“OK … HO! HO! HO! …Who do we have here?” Santa’s burly middle rolling as he spoke. Margaret gently led Craig and Abigail to the ‘stage’, leaned forward on tippy-toes, and whispered instructions in the old man’s ear. He acknowledge with a wink and a smile.

Abigail, still with her arms folded, stopped dead in front on Santa’s knees and stared off grumpily into the toy aisles. Craig moved up behind her, with his arms behind his back, his hands’ grasped tightly over his backside.

“Now, what is the matter here?” Santa firmly said, as one eyebrow rose behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Problems … Well we can’t have that now, can we …” The children frowned at his statement.

“But … but … Santa …she started first …” Craig said, expecting a scolding to follow.

“Before you tell me what I can bring you, you must do something for me first,” Santa replied coyly.

Craig and Abigail looked at each other strangely and turned back to Santa, who just smiled. “You must kiss and make up, or I won’t listen to your ‘list’,” he stated adamantly. Firmly he placed his white-gloved hands on their tiny shoulders and turned them towards each other. He watched them with scrutiny, but nothing happened. “Well?” he said with a grunt, tapping his fingers on his knees.

“I don’t like him, he’s a meanie!” Abigail blurted out.

“Just this once, to make Santa happy,” the old man urged. Craig leaned forward, closed his eyes and puckered up.

With a look of disgust, eyes shifting back and forth, Abigail grimaced and turned her cheek. As lips met skin, the photographer’s camera flashed. The parents and children, who had turned silent as mice, cheered and clapped loudly. Santa’s cheeks grew rosy; his eyes squinted as he smiled, the ‘HO! HO! HO!’ returned and he lifted the two children up and sat them on each knee.

Rattling off their long list to Santa, Craig and Abigail smiled from ear to ear. Kissing them both on the cheek, he replied, “Now be a good little boy and girl, and Santa will be sure to bring you everything you asked for.”

Margaret met the children as they jumped down off Santa’s lap and walked off the stage. “I hope you listen to what Santa said, he’s always watching, you know,” Mom replied, putting their coats and hats back on. “We’ll come back for the picture next week. It will be a good addition to the others.”

The cheering slowly faded and the procession dwindled. The two hours had passed quickly. The overjoyed children and their overburdened parents had come and gone. Santa stepped down from his ‘house’ and the photographer removed her film. “Until next year …” Santa stated as the rows of store lights clicked off, one by one.

*

Christmas Day came, the aroma of roast turkey and stuffing filled the air. The trains rode round and round on the platform; the tree set proudly in the center. The colored lights and ornaments twinkled and the tinsel shimmered in the unseen breeze.

Wrapping paper strewn about, opened boxes and toys galore filled the living room. The fireplace, filled with pine logs, blazed and sparked.

The clock struck noon and the doorbell chimed. Over and over, family arrived, gifts in hand, smiling faces and another ‘side-dish’ for dinner. Together again, all thirteen of us; the table wasn’t big enough but we made room.

Dad sat at the head of the table, Mom to his right, kids to his left. Everyone else found a tight spot.

“Let’s bow our heads,” Jack said with a pause and closed his eyes, “God … Bless this food and those about to partake of this feast, our family, together again, in Jesus name …Amen,” and we all softly echoed ‘Amen.’

“GOD, BLESS US ALL!”

Check it out here: "Christmas Anthology 2011" On Authonomy.com

© 2011 Gretchen Steen