Unspoken Message

On the ever so small chance that memories could escape the confines of my mind, I decided it was time to write a story about a Christmas event that took place over 21 years ago.  It was without doubt one of the most powerful memories I possess. It also goes to show the depth and length that parents will go to keep the Christmas spirit alive in their children and give them something to carry with them as they grow.

I was 42 years old when my one and only child was born. To say I totally embraced parenthood does not quite give credit to this third childhood of mine. When my son was born I was already hip deep in my second childhood with no hope of ever reverting back to a boring adult existence.  After all, little kids have the best toys and the wildest imagination imaginable.  I participated in trick or treating, Easter egg hunts, campfires, camping, hikes, bike riding and more, all thanks to being a very involved parent who just happened to carry a slightly advanced age in his life bucket.

Matt had just turned 5 and since his birthday was in November, he was mostly still 4 in my mind and somewhere around 30 in his. I decided to make this Christmas of his one for the books. You know, one of those things he will tell his kids about and they in turn will tell their own. Call it my shot at immortality.

I’ve been blessed in this life to have had a very strong imagination. It has helped me to see what isn’t apparent to others at times and it fueled my late in life transformation into an aspiring author.      This imagination put together a pretty good show for the little man.

Here is how things unfolded that one Christmas Eve and morning several years ago. Traditions were taken care of first and that included a reading on Christmas Eve of the Poem, A Visit from St Nicholas, more commonly referred to The Night Before Christmas by Clement Clark Moore. This was followed by a reading of the birth of Jesus from the bible. Then it was bedtime and those of you with children know how hard it is to convince the little ones to go to bed and really SLEEP on Christmas Eve. The Christmas readings were followed by the normal reading of the current book we were reading, while he was under the cover fighting sleep. Soon enough, he was off on his nightly sojourn to dreamland, no doubt dreaming about Christmas morning. Now it was time for me to get to work.

Most parents of very young children set the gifts up unwrapped around the tree the night before and that was the first onus I took on that night. I can’t remember how he reacted to the gifts but I will always remember how he reacted to the surprise waiting for him when he came to the den.

 After getting things ready, I retired because I knew I had a very early start the next morning. I was up and dressed by 4AM, it was time to get this show on the road.

First thing I did was go get the morning newspaper and start some coffee. I placed the newspaper outside the front door and left the door unlocked. Trust me, this will make sense soon. After one cup of coffee, I got dressed once again. I changed into a complete Santa suit. When I say complete, I mean right down to the black patent leather boots and gold rimmed glasses. I sat in a chair in the den by the Christmas tree and waited for the boy to get up. I waited, and waited and waited some more, starting to sweat from all the clothes I was wearing. Looking back, maybe 5:30AM would have been early enough to start. I got out of the chair and started the video recorder, sat down again and pretended to be asleep, all the while, keeping my eyes open in tiny slits.

I could hear the pitter patter of my child’s feet coming down the hallway. The game was officially afoot. Upon entering the den, the surprise on my son’s face was apparent. It started as a little fear at catching someone asleep in the den, to glee because that someone was none other than Santa. His eyes got as big as baseballs and his mouth was wide open in a silent showing of complete surprise. He spun on one heal and down the hallway he ran screaming for his parents and letting us know he had captured Santa.

 Now this is where I had to get to work to make this believable. I jumped up, ran out the adjacent door to the garage where I had an empty trashcan waiting for me. I took the Santa suit off, deposited and covered it and dressed in my regular clothes for the day, all the while shaking a set of jingle bells like someone fighting off spiders.

Then I ran around to the front door, picked up the newspaper
and entered the house like I had just returned from collecting it, all the
while acting completely innocent and without any knowledge of our visitor. Matt
was beside himself with excitement, telling me all about Santa falling asleep
in the recliner and him seeing him. He not only saw him but apparently heard
him leaving with the ring of every jingle bell.

At first, he couldn’t believe that I never saw him. I told
him I got up, turned the coffee on and went down to get the paper, never once
going in the den. If I had, I too would have seen him and what a treat that
would have been. He bought it totally.

As the years have sped by, this morning has returned to the
forefront of my mind many times. I even reached a point of questioning the
steps I went through to get a child to believe totally in a mythological being
and I guess at one time I could have even had regret because, like all
children, eventually they discover the truth. What we have to keep in mind is that
truth includes the spirit of Christmas, magic, Santa, giving hearts, family, making
memories and more.

As things end, I do not care for the PC society this country
has become. It is as if humor and make believe have no place in today’s
society. Imagination has been stifled to the point of hampering creativity. Let
the children enjoy their childhood. Let their imagination soar. Let the magic
of Christmas live not just year round but lifetime long. Remember, life is art,
create some.

Richard D.
Rowland

©2018

Unspoken Messages is available from many retailers, most notably Balboa Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, BAM and more. Signed copies are available at doublerstables@gmail.com