BRCMD #12 - The Santa Claus Agnostic

Leading up to the Christmas just past, my Missouri cousins were astonished that I had never heard of Santa Claus. He's the one that brings you toys at Christmas, they told me.

Momma and Daddy buy me toys, I told them.

Not for Christmas, they said. Your folks get you clothes and shoes at Christmas but Santa Claus brings you toys that his elves make in a workshop at the North Pole.

Huh, uh, I said, shaking my head.

Then he flies through the air on a sleigh with reindeer and he comes down your "chimbley" (the Arkansas pronunciation of chimney) on Christmas Eve and leaves toys under your tree. You just have to leave out cookies and milk for him; he likes oatmeal raisin.

Oh, that guy, I said. The Santa in the song about Rudolph? I didn't know his last name, I told them.

Now it may seem odd that I had heard of Rudolph but not Santa Claus's full name; I put it down to the selective attention of little kids. I did know all the words to the Rudolph song and could sing them as well as the song about Tubby the Tuba on another kids' record. And of course, the Big Rock Candy Mountain.

My cousins couldn't believe that I had never heard of Santa Claus and would not believe in him just because they told me about him. Kay and Robert thought this was funny. I don't think they believed in him either but my other younger cousins seemed horrified.

How could he bring toys to all the kids in the world? I asked. I had traveled more than most of them and had a concept of just how big the world was (too small an idea, but still bigger than their worlds) and I knew that some kids didn't even speak English.

And how could he get down a chimbley? Our chimbley is too small for a cat to get down it! I said. We had a heating stove in our tiny living room with a metal chimney less than three inches across. Pa Dale's chimney on his cast-iron pot-bellied heating stove might have been five inches wide. Ma Dale's chimneys on her cooking stoves were no larger and Momma's cooking stove probably had a chimney but I'd never seen it.

It just doesn't make sense, I said after explaining why reindeer (whatever they were) couldn't fly.

It's magic, said one cousin, it doesn't need to be explained.

Yeah, like Jesus, said another cousin.

Santa Claus was like Jesus? I found that even harder to believe.

I still couldn't believe that a fat old man I didn't know who lived at the North Pole with elves would bring me presents at Christmas. So I asked my Daddy about it.

Is Santa Claus a real person and does he bring toys for kids on Christmas Day?

Daddy pointed out an objection to the existence of Santa Claus I had not even thought of. In our family, we opened presents on Christmas Eve, not Christmas Day which was always spent with a large family dinner like the New Year's one I told about before. The old man in the red suit would be a day late and would not even get a cold potato, let alone milk and cookies.

But when I pressed him for a definite answer as to whether Santa Claus existed, he said, Go ask your mother what she thinks about it.

So I asked Momma. After explaining what I had heard about Santa Claus and watching my father grin as I went through everything again, I asked, is Santa Claus real?

Well, said Momma, what do you think?

I think he's like Frosty the Snowman, I said. And Donald Duck. Just a nice story.

Well, you're probably right. He is a nice story, she said.

I did some more thinking. I'd believe in him if he brought me toys, but he's never brought me any, I said. All of my toys you all bought for me, or—and here I listed all the relatives I could remember who had ever given me toys or books. Don't think a little kid does not keep track of this sort of thing.

Momma and Daddy both grinned at me. I couldn't think exactly why this might be funny but Kay and Robert had laughed and grinned, too, and David, Aunt Myrtle's oldest, had looked and sounded sly while he tried to convince me of Santa Claus's existence. Santa Claus, I decided, must be a joke grown-ups and big kids played on little kids.

Thinking that through, I decided to test the idea. If Santa Claus brings me any presents this Christmas, maybe I'll have to believe in him, huh? I said.

They agreed that evidence like that would certainly make it sound more likely.

But how could he get through our chimbley? I asked. It's too small.

Well, said Momma, if he's a real person, wouldn't he use the door like anyone else?

Okay, I said. That makes sense. Maybe he is real and just the reindeer and the chimbleys are a made-up story. Kay said you could ask Santa Claus for what you want, so what I want is a can of Tinkeytoys like Robert has.

It was worth a try. Daddy had said that Tinkeytoys were too expensive. (The small can was under $1, the big can about $3.) Maybe Santa Claus could afford them.

And sure enough, after breakfast on Christmas Eve, we gathered all of our stuff from under the tiny tree and went over to Ma and Pa Dale's, and during the lead-up to lunch, all us little kids got to open our presents.

I'd opened a few, some new shoes and a rubber dolly with yellow hair, when someone handed me a round object, about a foot long and no bigger around than our chimbley back home. I knew what it must be, and it was, the small can of Tinkeytoys!

I tore the wrapper off, opened it up and spilled them out on the floor. They were in color! Robert's were all tan wood-color but my Tinkeytoys were red and blue and orange and yellow and green!

Who's that one from? Aunt Myrtle, Momma's sister asked. It felt like a set-up. I dug through the paper until I found the label. I sounded out the words, Santa Claus, a little surprised that it wasn't spelled Sandy Klaws which is what I'd thought everyone was saying.

So now, do you believe in Santa Claus? asked Uncle Ross, Momma's brother and the father of Robert, Kay, Bud and Bill.

Well, I said, it says Santa Claus but it's printed in Momma's handwriting. And everybody startled me by laughing like I had said the funniest thing ever.

All of that story is just to explain what happened at Aunt Lizzie's that following year.