Santa Claus and Dad by Charley Sutton

 Frank Townsend

Back around 1938, my uncle Frank asked Santa for a bicycle for Christmas. He had been good all year and couldn’t wait to open his new bicycle. When Christmas Day came, the bicycle didn’t. My uncle looked outside, and the neighbor kid was riding the new bicycle that Santa should have gotten him.

 

He was devastated, because he was much better behaved than the neighbor kid. As he sat and cried by the window, grandpa asked him what was wrong. When uncle Frank told him that Santa wasn’t fair, he told his son the truth. He didn’t get the bicycle, because grandpa couldn’t afford it. He was much better behaved than the neighbor, but the neighbor’s dad made more money than grandpa did. 

My grandpa never told another of his children that their presents were from Santa. My mom never told me or my sister that Santa delivered our presents, either. I never shared my thoughts about Santa with my friends at school, because the tradition of Santa was important to some people, and I was taught not to trample on the traditions of others.

 I still remember an eleven year old girl crying all day after finding out from a classmate that Santa didn’t deliver her Christmas presents. I thought it was just as cruel of her parents for not telling her the truth as it was cruel of the child for telling her the truth.

Fast forward to my role in Christmas as a parent. My wife and I were raised at two different ends of the Christmas spectrum.

Sutton family Christmases were a short two week period that lasted from around December 10th to the 25th. The tree went up and ten to fifteen days later, on Christmas night, it came down. Santa was a small part of our tradition. The Christmas specials were the extent of my and my sister’s Santa exposure. The presents went under the tree the moment it went up labeled from mom and dad. 

The Swihart family Christmases that my wife celebrated began the day after Thanksgiving and ended on New Years Day. The tree went up, the fireplace was put together, stockings were placed, and ceramic figures were posed in every room. Presents went under the tree late Christmas Eve when Santa came calling. New Years Day came, and all the decorations went back into storage. 

Our marriage demanded a marriage of traditions. She wanted Santa to deliver presents, and I did not. A compromise was reached. Santa would make the toys, but I had to send him money for materials. Santa could get all the wood he needed for free, but parents had to buy the plastic and metal needed for toys that kids ask for today. Once Santa received the things he needed, the elves would build the toys, and Santa would deliver them on Christmas Eve. 

"Yes, Garrett, there is a Santa Claus. I drive him to work each day."

Garrett Sutton

While in Walmart when my son was six, he told me he wanted a battery powered scooter that was just under five hundred dollars. I told him that I didn’t think I could afford to send Santa the amount of money needed to buy the materials to make it. He asked if we could put it on the list just in case. I told him he could. 

He ran a few feet down the aisle and added a dozen more items to his mental list. A woman walked up to me and asked what I told my son about the scooter. I explained that Santa needing money for supplies made me the one to blame if my son didn’t get what he wanted for Christmas. It wasn’t based on just his behavior. My ability to pay for materials was also a factor. I never wanted my kids to feel like my uncle Frank did on Christmas morning all those years ago. 

My son held onto his childhood belief a little longer than my daughter. He knew the truth, but didn’t want to trample on his mom’s traditions. He let her believe that he believed for two years after he figured out the details of delivery. 

Whatever your traditions are and however you celebrate the holidays, I wish you and yours a Merry Christmas.

Charley is a maintenance technician from Peru, Indiana. An avid reader for as long as he can remember, he's always aspired to write. He has put pen to paper for almost as long. As he grows older, finding the time to write gets easier. Find him on Facebook.