Here's another Santa story, one which
my mom used to always love telling....
When I was back in my bassinet days,
my two older sisters were 5 and 3. That year my parents had just taken
in a rescue dog named Cindy. Cindy was a big old beagle who absolutely
adored children and absolutely despised adults. The only adults she
tolerated at all were my parents, and because of that and because this
dog seemed to love us kids so much, my parents kept her. Now
comes Christmas. My dad that year decided he would dress up as Santa
Claus and come walking in the front door Christmas Eve with a whole
bunch of presents. Well when the time came, Cindy took one look at
Santa and went ballistic. She charged my dad to attack him. My mom,
always thinking, yelled out to him to hold his arm out to Cindy so that
she could smell him and know who he really was. So that's what he
did. He stopped in his tracks and held out his arm. Cindy paused,
slowly approached him, smelled his outstretched arm, and then proceeded
to bite into him with everything she had. It was a good plan in
theory, but the one thing that my parents both neglected to think about
at the time was that this Santa suit probably had the scent of about
twenty other people all over it. So my dad wound up in the emergency
room that night and he never wore a Santa suit again. But we still kept
Cindy.
-potato
-------------------------------------------------
OK, so I am the first to admit that I was a really
weird kid. I was Jewish and living in Northern Minnesota (yeah, so was
Bob Dylan at one time, but that didn't affect my life one iota. Other
than people would say, "Oh, are you related to Bob Zimmerman from
Hibbing? ANd I would say, "Yeah, he's my cousin" and people would really
think it was true. Yeah...it worked for my brother with the chicks,
though.)
So anyway, in Northern Minnesota, it is very very
cold. My little town was on the news every few years for being the
coldest place in the country. It was also very boring, so between brain
freeze from the cold and there being no excitement, other than the
occasional stupid kids putting their tongues on metal or a snowmobile
somehow crashing on a flat frozen lake, there were lots of Christmas
lights.
As I said, I was a weird ass kid. I carved a cross
in the headboard of my bed because I was convinced Dracula was going to
get me in my sleep. (My mom was ready to do whatever kind of exorcism
Jews would do until I explained it) I threw my little sister's Raggedy
Ann doll in the fireplace because it kept staring at me. Same with the
clown doll. I probably would have benefitted from mental health
intervention, but anyway, enough of the preamble. Here is the Santa
story.
On the way to and from school, there was this
house with mean people living in it. Every town has one. These people
actually put up concrete poles with electric wire to keep us from riding
our bikes on the corner of their lawn. And they had rabbit pens in the
backyard not because they loved bunnies, but because they butchered and
sold them. Rumor had it they would do the same to unwanted kittens and
puppies, or pets that wandered in their lawn. I guess it would be the
equivilent of the Radleys in To Kill A Mockingbird. We never trick or
treated at their house, and we were all convinced they would behead
children if they were hungry enough.
Well, one year, they decided to partake in the
Christmas festivities. At first, their house looked really nice.
Inviting almost--Like in Hansel and Gretel. I was kind of surprised and
we were all abuzz at school about how nice their house looked. Then,
just when we thought they were not satan incarnates, they put out Fang
Santa. The thing was absolutely terrifying. It was about 4 feet tall,
lighted, and he was grinning with his mouth wide open. Like "The
Scream". His hand was up in front of his open mouth, like he was maybe
yawning or laughing, but I swear HE HAD FANGS. His hand was HIDING HIS
FANGS! I told my parents about fang Santa, but since I had tossed dolls
in the fire and carved a cross in my headboard, I had no credibility.
They were like, "He's LAUGHING! HO HO HO!" NO NO NO. He was going to
grab me from my bed at night and bring me to the rabbit killers to be
slaughtered and eaten in Christmas stew.
I was never able to prove fang Santa, because they
never put fang Santa out again. They never put the lights up again,
either. Maybe it was a one time ploy to keep us away from their house
forever. It worked. Even when I came home to visit, I would tell my kids
to stay away from the rabbit killers house.
So that's my Santa story. I probably could do
better, but my Santa exposure was rather limited. But I am very happy I
don't do Christmas, so I never have to surrender my children to his knee
or anything...who knows what might happen??
Love your site, and we will send you a lovely
holiday card later.
Steph
-------------------------------------------------------