Eskimos. And none of them are Santa Claus. Our folks, that’s who gets us the presents. And Santa Claus is just for babies to believe in. Libby says.”
“But there’s lot of things you can’t see and people believe in them just the same,” Tomaso said. “I never seen Jesus but I believe in him. And Mary. Every night when I say my prayers, I know Jesus and Mary are listening to me, but I ain’t never seen either one of them. And I don’t know where Heaven is, I never seen that.” Tomaso leaned an elbow on the table and thoughtfully braced his chin while he watched Lori working. “But I know Mary and Jesus and Heaven are real. Even grown-ups know that. I think maybe Santa Claus is the same sort of thing. You know, a kind of spirit.”
Lori looked at me. “Is he right?”
“I guess that might be a way of looking at it,” I said.
“And,” Tomaso continued, “I think he gives people good feelings inside and makes them love other people and want to get them presents. He doesn’t really come down and do it himself, he makes us do it for him. Sort of like Frankenstein and his monster.”
“Then how come all of them men dress up in the stores?” Lori asked. “How come they want to trick you?”
“I don’t think they want to trick you, Lor,” I said. “I think they do it because it usually makes people feel good. It makes them happy to see a Santa Claus.”
“Libby doesn’t believe in him at all.”
“Libby’s stupid,” Tomaso said flatly.
“She doesn’t quite understand yet, Lor,” I added. “Sometimes when we find out that things are not just the way we wished they were, we get upset and then we won’t have anything to do with them for a while. But feelings change if we give them a chance. I imagine it’ll be that way with Libby. She doesn’t want to believe in Santa Claus because he isn’t really a nice old man in a red suit, but pretty soon when she’s older, she’ll see the real Santa Claus is much nicer. She’ll believe then.”
Lori paused. “Is it okay to believe in that guy at the shopping center? I mean, is it okay to go tell him what you want, even if he isn’t for real?”
I smiled. “Yeah, I imagine it’s all right. Don’t you, Tom?”
He nodded. “Yes, I think it’s okay too. The real Santa, he won’t mind.”
And then there were those who knew very little about Santa Claus.
During the second week of December I had the kids outside for recess. It was a sunny day that Wednesday, brilliant in a way only winter days seem to be. Perhaps I should not have let them go out. It was still cold and a thin glaze of ice from the last thaw polished the concrete playground, the swings and the monkey bars. I told the kids to stay on the grass and off the slippery equipment, and because the day was such a jewel among the winter’s damp, dark weeks, I let them run.
Lori and Boo were galloping around while Tomaso and I leaned against the wall of the building in the sunshine and talked. Tomaso was telling me about a television show he especially liked, about the actor who starred in it, how he was considering writing that actor a letter to see if he would write back. I was engrossed enough in the conversation not to be watching Boo and Lori as closely as I should have. They managed to get over onto the playground equipment without my noticing.
A piercing scream cut the air.
Boo. I looked up in time to see him fall from the monkey bars in that stop-frame clarity of accidents. The scream had been Lori’s. Boo made no sound at all.
“Boo!” I shrieked as I ran. Tomaso ran behind me. “Boo! Boo!” I touched his face. He lay crumpled in an awkward lump. Very, very cautiously I moved his head back. Blood oozed out the right side of his mouth.
Lori was crying. Tomaso hovered nervously behind me. “Why isn’t he moving? Is he dead?” At this Lori howled even louder.
“For pity’s sake, Tomaso, of course he isn’t dead. How can you say that?”
“Maybe we ought to
“But there’s lot of things you can’t see and people believe in them just the same,” Tomaso said. “I never seen Jesus but I believe in him. And Mary. Every night when I say my prayers, I know Jesus and Mary are listening to me, but I ain’t never seen either one of them. And I don’t know where Heaven is, I never seen that.” Tomaso leaned an elbow on the table and thoughtfully braced his chin while he watched Lori working. “But I know Mary and Jesus and Heaven are real. Even grown-ups know that. I think maybe Santa Claus is the same sort of thing. You know, a kind of spirit.”
Lori looked at me. “Is he right?”
“I guess that might be a way of looking at it,” I said.
“And,” Tomaso continued, “I think he gives people good feelings inside and makes them love other people and want to get them presents. He doesn’t really come down and do it himself, he makes us do it for him. Sort of like Frankenstein and his monster.”
“Then how come all of them men dress up in the stores?” Lori asked. “How come they want to trick you?”
“I don’t think they want to trick you, Lor,” I said. “I think they do it because it usually makes people feel good. It makes them happy to see a Santa Claus.”
“Libby doesn’t believe in him at all.”
“Libby’s stupid,” Tomaso said flatly.
“She doesn’t quite understand yet, Lor,” I added. “Sometimes when we find out that things are not just the way we wished they were, we get upset and then we won’t have anything to do with them for a while. But feelings change if we give them a chance. I imagine it’ll be that way with Libby. She doesn’t want to believe in Santa Claus because he isn’t really a nice old man in a red suit, but pretty soon when she’s older, she’ll see the real Santa Claus is much nicer. She’ll believe then.”
Lori paused. “Is it okay to believe in that guy at the shopping center? I mean, is it okay to go tell him what you want, even if he isn’t for real?”
I smiled. “Yeah, I imagine it’s all right. Don’t you, Tom?”
He nodded. “Yes, I think it’s okay too. The real Santa, he won’t mind.”
And then there were those who knew very little about Santa Claus.
During the second week of December I had the kids outside for recess. It was a sunny day that Wednesday, brilliant in a way only winter days seem to be. Perhaps I should not have let them go out. It was still cold and a thin glaze of ice from the last thaw polished the concrete playground, the swings and the monkey bars. I told the kids to stay on the grass and off the slippery equipment, and because the day was such a jewel among the winter’s damp, dark weeks, I let them run.
Lori and Boo were galloping around while Tomaso and I leaned against the wall of the building in the sunshine and talked. Tomaso was telling me about a television show he especially liked, about the actor who starred in it, how he was considering writing that actor a letter to see if he would write back. I was engrossed enough in the conversation not to be watching Boo and Lori as closely as I should have. They managed to get over onto the playground equipment without my noticing.
A piercing scream cut the air.
Boo. I looked up in time to see him fall from the monkey bars in that stop-frame clarity of accidents. The scream had been Lori’s. Boo made no sound at all.
“Boo!” I shrieked as I ran. Tomaso ran behind me. “Boo! Boo!” I touched his face. He lay crumpled in an awkward lump. Very, very cautiously I moved his head back. Blood oozed out the right side of his mouth.
Lori was crying. Tomaso hovered nervously behind me. “Why isn’t he moving? Is he dead?” At this Lori howled even louder.
“For pity’s sake, Tomaso, of course he isn’t dead. How can you say that?”
“Maybe we ought to
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