My First Santa Encounter

The first time I met Santa Claus I was five and a quarter years old.  It was at the Knickerbocker Bank on Buhure Avenue in the Bronx.  Up until that point in time I bought his existence as myth and blind faith alone.

One day, when the snow was waist-high and carved into navigable paths by neighborhood snow shovels, my mother bundled me up in my fat parka with the fur trimmed hood, heavy-duty galoshes, a six foot scarf, an itchy woolen hat, mittens over gloves and puffy snow pants – lest I lose my balance and it became necessary for me to bounce my roundness off a snow drift somewhere along the three block route.  As we approached the bank we could see that the line snaked out to the curb and to the left.  It began in front of the bakery, not a bad place to wait, drooling over a tempting display of festive cookies and Italian pastries.  A yellow winter sun beat down and melted the soft white drifts of clean snow into happy puddles, not easily ignored by anxious list holders.

Looking at photos of this toy,
she seems a little creepy and
scary to me now.

After what seemed an interminable wait, I was there, face to face with the red legend.  His nose was red, his suit was red, and his hair and beard were glowing white.  I looked past the silver-rimmed spectacles for the famous twinkle in his eye but it was missing.  Maybe it was a special thing, reserved for special times, like Christmas Eve when he slid down chimneys all over the world.  Fear welled up in my gut.  We didn’t have a chimney.  How did he get in?  Why did I never think of this before?  Now, more panic, I had to talk; it was my turn.  I looked to my mother for help in finding the words.  Her smile helped me remember.  I said the words but they disappeared into the thin air.  Finally, I managed to blurt out, “I want a Patty Play Pal doll.”  Patty Play Pal was a life-sized doll that talked when you pulled a loop on a cord located on the back of her neck.  It was concealed for everyone but the lucky cord-puller by Patty's long, blunt pageboy haircut. It was a big deal toy for girls in the fifties, almost as popular as the hula-hoop, which I also wanted but didn’t want to ask for because I didn’t want Santa to think I was greedy.   There, done.  I clearly stated my wishes.  I did it.  I talked to Santa and now he would know.  But how will he bring Patty into the house without a chimney?  Then I heard his words of confirmation, “Ho. Ho. Ho.”  He handed me a green lollipop and directed me to the nearest teller.  (I really wanted red or purple, orange would have been okay, too.  Anything but green or yellow.)  What was he trying to say?  Save your pennies and buy your own Patty Play Pal?  I thought he was kind of mean.

But the old guy came through, chimney or no chimney; he figured a way in.  I did get my Patty Play Pal, the brunette one, and my sister got the blonde.  I think that we got hula-hoops, too.

So, yes, there is a Santa and he does deliver. 

(Writing exercise from writers' group 12/17, using holiday prompt.)