I saw Santa’s boot. I was the leader of the pack. We were sneaking downstairs early Christmas morning. With a shhhhhhhhhh, I pushed the unruly brood back into the hall and whispered my good fortune. I quickly relayed my account of what I witnessed ‘round the corner. I caught just a glimpse of shiny patent leather as Santa shimmied up the chimney. When the five of us crept forward he was gone. Even I believed myself as I went into the details later. Maybe this sighting could restore my faith in magic; my family’s faith in good things. I wanted badly to continue this happy charade but it had started seeming fishy.
When I declared my vision, the excitement that ensued conveniently deflected my growing concern in terms of Santa. I had begun to doubt this pudgy bearded man could possibly get to everyone in one night and not end up a sooty mess. His beard was always white as snow although he came and went, not through the door, but through the fireplace. What if a house was without one, what would Santa do? There was a second fireplace in my parents’ bedroom that was filled with plastic ferns and statues of rabbits my mom painted in her ceramics phase. She would be so pissed if he missed and crashed into her arrangement.
We all know deer can’t fly, but wouldn't it be cool. Our imagination was stretched in so many directions to encompass the depth of this tradition, but we did it. We kept it going for as long as luck would have it. I don’t know how or who it was that let me in on the truth. There was never a discussion, an explanation of the purpose for this delightful sham. It just seemed a part of growing up that would be found in textbooks about the developmental process of a child. It could be depicted on a graph as a sudden spike in realism. There is no such thing as Santa Clause… big spike and make-believe is over… how disheartening a time.
I didn’t know how I was going to incorporate the “boot sighting” into my history with any kind of dignity. Now we laugh about it… the time I “saw” the boot. I can’t live it down. It stands like a monument to my ability to lie. I now must put all my truths into the boot and make sure they don’t come running through the sole of it. I was merely trying to revive the light in our eyes and magnify the anticipation that was waning. All unconscious at the time but it is true. I so had wanted to hold onto the shred of wonder that was fleeting.
The following year it had all but disappeared, like it never had existed. Fairy tales were over. Dreams do not come true. A lot happened to confuse me. I wished I could live in stories. The kind you melt into like dreams… the half-in, half-out state of being where nothing bad can touch you.
I could easily escape into the “Secret Garden.” I read that book a thousand times. I would hide up in my bedroom and turn into the pages. The hidden door was always mine if I should need it. When I entered in the garden, I saw only with my heart. The eyes from deep within me.The truth is what I’m feeling. I see flowers. I see vines. I see a tree I can sit under and rest calmly in its shade. A cool breeze erases the sweat on my brow. I am safe there. I can breathe and smell the scent of freedom. And after I have rested, I skip through the sun in peace and at times I'm even laughing. I Honor My Truth!
Debra you are adorable. I always love your videos and blogs. Believing is definitely a feeling. I am having a experience right now where someone is telling me something and I've seen it in the past but I believe in my heart and gut I know the right path for me to take.
Christina
Debra, there was a time I actuallY hated Christmas with all the to-do's I put on it. Now I recognize the true meaning. I also love it for the way we let each other close to us really know how we feel. Thank you for reminding us Christmas isn't just a day, it's a frame of mind (not my words) and worth thinking about when it's almost June & anytime we choose.
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