December 10, 2016

A CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE WITH GRANDMA!

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on theday my big sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even dummies know that!”

 

I fled to Grandma’s house because I knew Grandma always told the truth.

Grandma was home, and I told her everything. She was ready for me. “No Santa Claus!” she snorted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. Now, put on your coat, and let’s go.”

 

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. “Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, it had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days. ‘Take this money,” she said, “and buy something for someone who needs it. I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of Kerby’s.

 

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who to buy it for.

 

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my church. When I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock’s grade-two class.

 

Bobby Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went out at recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn’t have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat. I fingered the ten dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

 

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. “Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. “Yes,” I replied shyly. “It’s …. for Bobby.” The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

 

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible). Then grandma wrote, “To Bobby, From Santa Claus” on a card –  Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially one of Santa’s helpers.

 

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby’s house, and she and I hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get going.”

 

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

 

Fifty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker’s bushes.

That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.

 

I still have Grandma’s Bible, with the tag tucked inside: $19.95.

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