Christmas is NOT about Santa and presents. It’s something far more important than
that, and I hope that’s the feeling you take away from this story, and the longish poem
too. Happy Christmas in July.
As a child, I grew up with the bare minimum,
but on Christmas morning my siblings and I
received presents I knew
my parents could not afford.
That’s why I believed.
The girl awoke at the crack of dawn and quietly slid out of the room she
shared with her sisters. Guided by the light framing the half-opened door
of her parent's bedroom, she edged close and peeked in.
Sitting amid presents and Christmas paper, Mom and Dad looked up and nodded.
"Lock the door," said her father, fanning his hand excitedly, waving her in,
welcoming her into the conspiracy.
Mother's whispered words echoed in her mind as she turned the lock: You're
eleven now and deserve to know the truth about Santa.
Averting her eyes from their proud, gentle gazes, she looked at the tags;
one showed her name, and she gasped.
"Just to keep up appearances," offered Mother. "You know, for the younger
ones' sake."
The girl nodded understanding and watched her parents whisper and work fast
--so fast like the little elves in the story of The Elves and the Shoemaker.
She smiled as she ferried one present after another to place under the
tree, but at the last one, hers, her parents tiptoed out with her.
This time she smiled through tears at seeing six wrapped presents under the
tree, and the warmth in her chest swelled her heart with love and respect
for the two people who'd shown her something about the meaning of giving.
Never in a million years would she have believed that her own parents took
part in such covert affairs just to make her and her siblings believe in
something that made every Christmas magical.
© Selma, first posted in 2021
That night, what I learned in my parents’ bedroom swelled my heart with hope,
love, and respect. That is why I still believe in the Magic of Christmas.
And Santa.
(I received my first LP Record player that Christmas: a red one.)
“Dear Children, now that you are older, I will tell you a secret.
No matter what anyone says, Santa Claus is not your parents.
He is the parent we wish we were,
Riding high and free above your head,
Pulled by enchanted reindeer and bringing you presents
that could never be less than perfect.
I believe in Santa, oh, yes, I believe.” ~ JOAN GOULD
Don’t let the injustice that exists in the darkness of the world consume your inner
light. Try to still find something to be grateful for and let your light shine bright
‘for others.’
Christmas is about light…
Just don’t look for Christmas in the clamor and display of superficial eventfulness,
especially if your heart is heavy with one or many irreplaceable losses.
Instead look for Christmas in the deep clarity of inner vision, which will point you
to quiet in silence. In that silence, recall humble holiday traditions that should get
you to relive & sense your dearly departed.
Think of how they celebrated Christmas and for the time being, imitate. Imitate
them until the act becomes you. This way, you bring Christmases past into your
current Christmas. (or any celebration you embrace at year-end.)
I’d like you to approach this Christmas emptied of impositions to be cheerful. But
for that, you’ll need to accept what you cannot change and thus lighten the load
in your heart. Nothing will be forced then.
Let’s all sit still and just listen.
This post is written for Christmas In July hosted by Teagan who says:
“…to bring smiles to everyone. Not religion, not politics, just relaxing fun.”
Please read her latest Christmas in July post here:
https://teagansbooks.com/2024/07/20/lemony-christmas-in-july-short-story/
Anyone can join in the challenge: https://teagansbooks.com/christmas-in-july/
“Every Time We Love, Every Time We Give, It’s Christmas” ~ Dale Evans
Kindred- A Poem by Selma Martin
A true story that I cherish
when December comes slip sliding
it’s old-fashioned, humble, love-filled
and decidedly December.
So, grab a chair and draw in close
as I tell you about my childhood
in a land where stars are plenty
closets lack coats—hearts aren’t empty!
It never snowed on Christmas Day
nor at any time of the year
so the job fell on Dad to forge
white Christmases year after year.
In the humble-est of efforts,
we saw him scratch his head and gloat
as he passed ideas by Mom
who’d nod and smile, making pig grunts.
The excitement from the town folks
brought buzz that sped up November
for the sundry store-tailor shop
to build a great show and bring snow.
On the first day of December
did appear a pure white Christmas
in the window of a store in
a small town in a small country.
Balls of cotton, elongated,
patted flat, garlanded the floor
wire hangers shaped as twinkly stars,
candy canes, snowflakes, and toy horns.
Mom’s doilies from Good Housekeeping
garnered praise and conversations
a plastic snowman ’tween snowflakes,
the jolly Santa, wee toy drums.
Trumpets, airplanes, ribbons and dolls,
broomstick horses, storybooks, sprites;
Victorian cards, fake holly,
painted pinecones–did folks dazzle!
Rocking robins, talismans, doves
little toy soldiers with toy guns.
And in the middle, the tallest
Christmas tree, ornaments, and lights.
But in our cozy rooms—the rest of the house
the new linoleum and Christmas curtains
the present wrapping and more decorating,
the advent calendar and Christmas baking,
the greeting cards and hallmark apples,
the Santa letters and Christmas stockings,
the record player and joyful carols.
Poinsettias, doilies, kugels, Dresdens,
the nativity with the boy-child, and
the angel atop the table Yule tree—
joys that set our little hearts ablaze.
For the rest of my days, when December comes slip
sliding
humble love memories I trace—decidedly December.
Daddy brought us white Christmases to revel and boast,
and Mommy brought us Yuletide joy to last forever.
© selma
This poem, found in In The Shadow of Rainbows, my debut poetry collection,
published on July 15th, 2023 by Experiments In Fiction, first appeared in
Masticadores USA.
Thanks for reading.
I hope this post made you smile.
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Beautiful 😍
Thanks dearly Sadje. I sooooo appreciate you. 🤗
You’re most welcome
what wonderful memories, put into a poem
Beth, I’m so pleased you enjoyed that. It was long. I just couldn’t shorten it. It’s a true story… bless you. Thanks for reading.
Heartwarming sentiments shared xo
Thank you Selma 💕
🤗 , Maggie
Beautifully written! Parents bring gifts for children and say it was given by Santa Claus . We did the same with our daughter until she realised the truth. Well shared 👍😊
Thanks for reading and commenting, Priti. Glad you liked this and resonates with you. Blessings.
👍
Some stories need to be long, Selma. Let them be what they are. No need to apologize. Thanks so much for participating. Hugs.
Hugs Teagan. Blessing you. You’re so cool 😎
💖 😎🤶🎅
Hi Selma, a most beautiful and magical post. Thank you. I love this: Don’t let the injustice that exists in the darkness of the world consume your inner
light. Try to still find something to be grateful for and let your light shine bright
‘for others.’
I enjoyed both poems and I knew I’d read the second on before and I see it was in your book. Have a lovely new week.
Aww. Gloriously gracious of you, Robbie. Thanks so much. Blessings.
🧡
It’s great to read your poem again Selma. You are so very right my friend, there is much more to Christmas that the superficial materialism. That Santa is way too cool. 😍 No Ho-Ho-Ho for him! 🎅🏼🎅🏼🎅🏼
🤗 🎅 💕 😘
What a delightful post, Selma!
A long post. Thanks so much for reading dear Dawn.