know what it does, Torey?”
“No, what?”
“Do you, Tomaso?”
“How the hell should I know? Do you think I play with dolls or something?”
“Well, anyway,” she leaned back over her chain and took another strip of construction paper to add to it, “this doll drinks and wets, but that’s not the good part. Guess what is?”
“
Madre Maria
, Lori, would you get to the point of your story?” Tomaso snapped. “You always go on and on and on.”
Lori ruffled her chain indignantly. “Well, anyhow, she eats. She really does; I’ve seen it. You get this special food that comes in packages and the baby eats it all by herself. Just like real. And she chews it and everything. No kidding. So I asked Santa to bring me one. And if I get it. I’ll bring and show you guys.”
Tomaso was watching her. Boo sitting next to him began to spin scissors on the tabletop. Reaching over to stop the noise, Tomaso still did not take his eyes from Lori. “Lor, do you believe in Santa Claus?” he asked. His voice was quiet and without emotion, yet there was a crusty tenderness about it which kept the question from coming out derisively.
Lori looked up. “Yeah.” A note of challenge in her reply.
No answer.
“Well, there really
is
a Santa Claus,” Lori said. Still the defensive edge to her voice. “I even seen him last night, so there, Tomaso.”
Tomaso nodded and looked down at his work. I loved the kid. All that armor plating and yet he never did come off quite as hardboiled as I think he wished in his heart he were.
“Santa Claus is real, isn’t he, Torey?” Lori asked.
I dreaded getting drawn into the conversation. This was one of those topics I had not really come to terms with myself. I had a harder time talking about Santa Claus than I ever did about sex. There were no facts to fall back on with Santa Claus. Just so very many meanings. Especially, it seemed, for my kids. A good man who brought you anything you wanted was a dream to be cherished, no matter how impractical. Yet every situation was different. One child needed to believe in the reality of Santa Claus because he also shared reality with a mother who beat him with a board and burned all his toys. Another needed to believe in the spirit of Santa Claus because all her life things had only been taken from her, never given. And a third needed no part in any sort of fantasy because for her as yet, there was no reality whatsoever. Thus Santa Claus brought me only worry. Such a complicated issue.
Lori, I think, needed a Santa Claus. She was stripped daily of all the millions of little dignities that failure alone can grab away. She needed to know that there were those who did not judge a person’s value by the direction her letters faced. She needed the bigger-than-life splendor of the Christmas dream. Nothing less would compensate for Lori’s deficiencies.
Tomaso too must have felt as I did. He rescued me from my floundering silence. “I believe in Santa Claus too. Lor,” he said.
“You do?” she said in surprise.
“Yeah, I do.”
“My sister don’t. She laughs at me. But I tell her he’s real. I know he is.”
Tomaso nodded. He was involved in his work again, not looking at either of us. “A lot of things are real but we just don’t know it.”
“Libby says if there’s a Santa Claus, where’s he at? She says the one in the shopping center, he isn’t real. He’s just some man dressed up in a red suit. And so’s the Santa downtown at the Bon Marché. He’s just dressed up too.” Lori shoved away the chains in front of her with an angry push. “I know that. Why does she keep telling me? Like I’m some baby. I know they’re just dumb old men.” Her eyes to me now, huge and resentful. “But there is too a Santa Claus, just the same.”
I nodded.
“But Libby, she says, well, if there’s a real Santa Claus, how come you never see him? She says nobody even lives up at the North Pole. There’s just a bunch of ice up there. And
“No, what?”
“Do you, Tomaso?”
“How the hell should I know? Do you think I play with dolls or something?”
“Well, anyway,” she leaned back over her chain and took another strip of construction paper to add to it, “this doll drinks and wets, but that’s not the good part. Guess what is?”
“
Madre Maria
, Lori, would you get to the point of your story?” Tomaso snapped. “You always go on and on and on.”
Lori ruffled her chain indignantly. “Well, anyhow, she eats. She really does; I’ve seen it. You get this special food that comes in packages and the baby eats it all by herself. Just like real. And she chews it and everything. No kidding. So I asked Santa to bring me one. And if I get it. I’ll bring and show you guys.”
Tomaso was watching her. Boo sitting next to him began to spin scissors on the tabletop. Reaching over to stop the noise, Tomaso still did not take his eyes from Lori. “Lor, do you believe in Santa Claus?” he asked. His voice was quiet and without emotion, yet there was a crusty tenderness about it which kept the question from coming out derisively.
Lori looked up. “Yeah.” A note of challenge in her reply.
No answer.
“Well, there really
is
a Santa Claus,” Lori said. Still the defensive edge to her voice. “I even seen him last night, so there, Tomaso.”
Tomaso nodded and looked down at his work. I loved the kid. All that armor plating and yet he never did come off quite as hardboiled as I think he wished in his heart he were.
“Santa Claus is real, isn’t he, Torey?” Lori asked.
I dreaded getting drawn into the conversation. This was one of those topics I had not really come to terms with myself. I had a harder time talking about Santa Claus than I ever did about sex. There were no facts to fall back on with Santa Claus. Just so very many meanings. Especially, it seemed, for my kids. A good man who brought you anything you wanted was a dream to be cherished, no matter how impractical. Yet every situation was different. One child needed to believe in the reality of Santa Claus because he also shared reality with a mother who beat him with a board and burned all his toys. Another needed to believe in the spirit of Santa Claus because all her life things had only been taken from her, never given. And a third needed no part in any sort of fantasy because for her as yet, there was no reality whatsoever. Thus Santa Claus brought me only worry. Such a complicated issue.
Lori, I think, needed a Santa Claus. She was stripped daily of all the millions of little dignities that failure alone can grab away. She needed to know that there were those who did not judge a person’s value by the direction her letters faced. She needed the bigger-than-life splendor of the Christmas dream. Nothing less would compensate for Lori’s deficiencies.
Tomaso too must have felt as I did. He rescued me from my floundering silence. “I believe in Santa Claus too. Lor,” he said.
“You do?” she said in surprise.
“Yeah, I do.”
“My sister don’t. She laughs at me. But I tell her he’s real. I know he is.”
Tomaso nodded. He was involved in his work again, not looking at either of us. “A lot of things are real but we just don’t know it.”
“Libby says if there’s a Santa Claus, where’s he at? She says the one in the shopping center, he isn’t real. He’s just some man dressed up in a red suit. And so’s the Santa downtown at the Bon Marché. He’s just dressed up too.” Lori shoved away the chains in front of her with an angry push. “I know that. Why does she keep telling me? Like I’m some baby. I know they’re just dumb old men.” Her eyes to me now, huge and resentful. “But there is too a Santa Claus, just the same.”
I nodded.
“But Libby, she says, well, if there’s a real Santa Claus, how come you never see him? She says nobody even lives up at the North Pole. There’s just a bunch of ice up there. And
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