“Merry Christmas,” he said, then went right back to ringing his bell.
He didn’t want to talk to me. He didn’t care about me. He just wanted my spare change. What kind of Salvation Army was that? Weren’t they supposed to be the Friends of the Friendless? I don’t think I’ll buy my next sofa from them.
Out of all my visits to Santa at Kendall’s Department Store, the last one, in my tenth year, stands out the most.
I was older, and more mature. I’d taken the past year to think things out carefully. This year, there would be a change in plans. Instead of my scroll-like list, I would make it easy on Santa. I would only ask for one thing.
A horse.
That morning, I begged my mother to let me wear my Girl Scout uniform. I thought the uniform might help my cause.
“Honey, are you sure you need to see Santa this year?” my mother asked, almost concerned as we stood in the Santa line.
“I have to! It’s really important!” I cried out with overdramatic angst.
“Well…okay. You’re a big girl now---do you think you can see Santa by yourself?”
“Sure,” I said with big girl independence.
“Okay then. I have some shopping to do. I’ll be back in half an hour.”
As I waited patiently in the Santa line, I watched the little children clutch their lists for all they were worth. A few of the youngest ones cried; too young to understand that they were about to meet the man who could make their dreams come true. I looked at them with the wisdom that comes with age. I noticed that I was the tallest child there. They were too young to understand.
As we reached the entrance to the Santa throne, a kindly elf took me by the hand and told me to follow her along the Candy Cane Path. She asked my name and a few more questions while we waited. “Do you know what you want to ask Santa?” I nodded and smiled. I knew the procedure. Sure, some kids got nervous as they were about to meet Kris Kringle himself. But not I. I had done this many times. Santa and I were practically old friends. I was sure he’d been notating all the good deeds I’d done and how hard I’d worked over the past several years.
This was going to be my year. I could just feel it in my bones.
“Santa, Dorrie is here to see you.”
“Dorrie! Ho! Ho! Ho!” Santa motioned me forward with that jolly laugh of his.
I knew he would remember me.
After a few moments of chit-chat, we got down to business.
“What do you want for Christmas, Dorrie?”
“Santa,” I looked up into his sparkling blue eyes, “all I want is a horse. I want a horse so much. I’d take such good care of him and I’d feed him and brush him and ride him everyday. And I’ve been so good this year. I’ve been saving my allowance and I have ninety-two dollars and thirty-seven cents in my piggy bank. And I’m a Girl Scout now and I got three badges already. One of them is the animal badge. See,” I pointed to my Girl Scout sash. “And I sold eighty-three dollars worth of Christmas seals this year and I collected money for UNICEF and I started taking ice skating lessons. I’m really good. Here’s a picture of me ice skating. And I got straight A’s all year and I even got my first job. I work in the school cafeteria. I get free lunch everyday. My Mom lets me keep my lunch money. That’s how I saved up so much. So I’ll be able to take good care of my horse. Please, Santa. It’s all I want for Christmas.”
Santa rubbed his beard in thought. Then he looked down at me and smiled. “Well Dorrie, I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “You’ve certainly been a good girl this year.”
I certainly had.
After our little talk, we posed for a picture together. It never hurt to have a picture with Santa. Gave him something to remember you by. He gave me a candy cane and I waved good-bye to him as my mother stood waiting with her shopping bags. I’d done it. I was sure I had done everything a ten year-old girl could possibly do to get a horse. Now I just had to wait.
On Christmas morning, I woke up with the greatest feeling of joy as I ran down the hallway screaming “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” My parents woke up and opened their door. As soon as my father put on his slippers, I ran screaming down the stairs in my pajamas.
There was the tree, lit up with colored lights and sparkling with tinsel. Underneath the tree, piles of gifts were wrapped in pretty paper and stacked high all around, like pirate booty just waiting to be looted.
“Oh, this one’s for you, Dorrie,” my mother exclaimed as she passed me a gift. “I wonder what that could be?” she said mysteriously. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her give a look to Dad; and saw him shake his head that he had no idea what it was, either. Well, how could they? It was from Santa. That meant that it could be anything!
And anything was probably the right word. Because as I pulled my gift out of the box, I had no idea what it was.
“Well…” my mother said a bit uncomfortably. “Isn’t that nice. That’s a training bra, Dorrie,” she explained as my brother snickered.
Then I heard her whisper to Dad, “That wasn’t a Santa gift.”
“Sorry,” he replied.
It wasn’t the sort of thing I usually got from Santa, but I
