The Christmas Santa Didn’t Bring It

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Five WeeksOne Christmas I decided to give Santa a doozy.

After all, little Natalie Wood did that in Miracle on 34th Street. Remember? She asks Kris Kringle for a house. He thinks she means a doll’s house, but no. She wants a real one! With a swing in the back yard, too.

Hoo boy. (SPOILER ALERT): So at the end of the movie she’s riding with her mother and soon-to-be stepdad, when she screams “Stop!” She jumps out of the car and runs up to this house, unoccupied and for sale. With a swing in the back! The old man really was Santa Claus!

But of course, the two adults have their doubts … until they see Kris Kringle’s cane leaning against the fireplace.

So, my kid-self thought, Santa really can deliver the goods if you ask big!

The other part of this story is I’d just seen the movie Five Weeks in a Balloon, based on the Jules Verne adventure novel. It starred Red Buttons, Barbara Eden, and Fabian (before Fabio, there was Fabian, only Fabian could sing). I loved adventure movies as a kid, and this one had it all. Ballooning over mountains and cities and wild game in Africa. The balloon had a cool gondola, too, shaped like a ship with a unicorn figurehead.

How boss it would be if I had one of those! I could float over my school, Serrania Avenue Elementary, and land on the playground. All the kids would run up and want a ride. And Susan––the girl I was in love with but who thought me a doofus––would finally realize I was the boy for her. We’d fly off toward Disneyland. She’d give me a kiss as we sailed over the Matterhorn.

Filled with hope, I sat down and wrote a letter to Santa. I can see it still. Because I drew a picture of the balloon I wanted, unicorn gondola and all. I think I told him that we had a cement badminton court in the back yard that would be the perfect spot for it.

Thank you and Merry Christmas, Jimmy Bell.

I addressed it: Santa Claus, North Pole. I mailed it myself, in plenty of time to reach him before the holiday.

Back then, on Christmas Eve, my two older brothers and I would sleep in the same room on the far side of the house. In the morning we’d stay there in our PJs until Mom or Dad gave the go ahead, and then we’d charge into the living room. There’d be a fire in the fireplace, the tree would be all lit up, and under and around it, the presents!

But on that particular Christmas morning, I slid out of bed and went to our back window. Surely the hot-air balloon would be there, perhaps with a ribbon attached to the unicorn’s horn.

All I saw was the badminton court––barren, cold, with a hint of mockery to it.

Dejected, I sat on the edge of my bed, wondering if I’d been too naughty that year. Had I exceeded my spitball allowance? Pulled a pigtail? Surreptitiously removed a box of Good & Plenty from Lonny Ezer’s lunchbox?

Nay! Nothing that would deny me my dream gift!

Eventually we boys got the signal, and into the living room we ran. Like always, a fire was roaring, my dad was smiling, my mom sipped her coffee on the sofa.

And there, over by the front door, the coolest blue Schwinn cruiser a boy ever saw. And it was mine!

I don’t remember much more of that Christmas, but I do the aftermath. At some point I told my mom about the detailed drawing I’d sent to Santa Claus, and asked why he did not deliver. She averred that perhaps Santa did not think it safe for a kid my age to have his own hot-air balloon. What if I ran into electric wires, or the wind blew me out to sea?

That was a wrinkle I hadn’t thought of. It made sense. My mom had gotten Santa off the hook.

Well, I loved my bike. It lasted me a good long time, got me to school, to the drugstore (for candy and comic books), to my friends’ houses, and on cool bike trips around my home town. I even remember peddling past Susan’s house once, but alas she made no showing.

That was the last time I ever wrote to Santa. I was a little sad to accept the cold truth about the North Pole’s most famous citizen. But every Christmas since I’ve honored his memory. We had some good times together. Santa gave spice to my young life, and dared me to dream of floating through the sky relishing grand adventures.

I ended up with a Schwinn cruiser, upon which I had adventures of other sorts. And that was fine with me.

So go ahead and dream big, friend. Dream of hot-air balloons. And if perchance you don’t get one, remember to love the bike you have.

Either way, you’ll go places.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and may you go further in 2016!

24 thoughts on “The Christmas Santa Didn’t Bring It”

  1. Great story, Jim. I never wrote to Santa, but my Mom kept a letter I wrote to her one Christmas. Two letters in fact. One, dated Dec 24th, said, “Please, Mom, please let me have an archery set for Christmas. I promise I won’t shoot my brother.”

    The second one, dated Dec 25th, said, “Please, Mom, please let me have my archery set back, I promise I won’t shoot my brother again.”

  2. I can’t remember writing to Santa, but I’m sure I did.

    I must be a very shallow person because when I discovered who Santa really was (spoiler), a part of Christmas died for me. It was then I noticed how commercial Christmas had become. So began my lifetime rejection of Christmas and gifts (receiving them… I still give them, and I’m quite excited about the gift I’ll be giving my one-day-a-week housekeeper and her family). I like the turkey and family, but now that my parents have gone, I tend to leave town and avoid as much of all the pomp–and endless Christmas parties–as possible.

    I suppose it would be different if I were religious and not such an introvert, but I’m not religious, and I much prefer a really small dinner party with scintillating conversation to the huge (to me) gatherings common at this time of year.

    That said, thank you for this blog and the many great posts I’ve enjoyed, and learned from, over the years. May this season bring you peace and joy.

    • Sheryl, the small and intimate gathering with great conversation is a gift, too. Hoping you have an abundance of those in the New Year. Thanks for being part of the TKZ community.

  3. Adorable story, Jim. Your early Christmases sound a lot like mine. Best memories ever. With very young grandchildren (7 months and 2 years) I’m hoping they’ll experience all the joys of this magical time of year. And maybe, someday, they’ll look back on future Christmases and cherish them too.

  4. Gosh, other people have such vivid memories of Christmas. I can’t even remember how old I was when the truth of Santa Clause came to me. LOL!

    Merry Christmas, Happy New Year and a wonderful 2016 to all at TKZ.

    • BK, I’d heard rumors of St. Nick’s fictional status on the playground, but refused to believe them. As I recall it was a slow transition. But I still love Miracle on 34th Street. Watch it almost every year.

  5. Great story, Jim. Brought back many great family memories for me. It always amazed me how my parents could dazzle us with their creativity on such a meager income. One year we got a mini rollercoaster for our front yard. I can’t imagine how safe that could’ve been, but wow.

    And my little mom had a ritual of pretending to be Santa (in mask) and peeking in our kitchen window. One year, my always curious little bro found her mask and we all put it together that Santa didn’t exist, but kept our discovery quiet until that Christmas. When Santa poked his face into our kitchen window, instead of our usual schtick, we all screamed, “Mom, Santa’s here. You gotta see this.” We ran to her locked bedroom door, pounding on it. Of course she nearly killed herself scrambling to get back and came out huffing & puffing. All of us were standing in the hall, belly laughing. She knew she’d been had.

    Good stuff. Thanks for the trip down memory lane.

  6. Great story, Jim.

    With four siblings, I have memories of much excitement, but no good stories to tell. My parents informed us at an early age of Santa’s real status. We were probably some of the spoilers for the “believers” among our classmates. But now, with grandchildren, the excitement has come alive again.

    Thanks for all your fantastic posts over the past years. I would nominate you for teacher of the year, with your posts and many books.

    Merry Christmas to you and your family, and a Happy and Prosperous New Year!

    • Thanks, Steve. The “cold truth” comes to kids in many ways. I do think, however, that John Payne has the right philosophy in Miracle on 34th Street, and Maureen O’Hara does come around.

      Merry Christmas back at you, Steve.

  7. I loved this story. Thank you for sharing.

    I think I lost my Christmas spirit when my father died a week before in 1980. Never was the same after that day but on Christmas eve a barn owl appeared on my bedroom window ledge and stayed exactly 12 days, day and night. During the night the owl would make soft cooing noises that were very comforting in an odd sort of way. During the day it looked like it was on guard. Everyone thought it so odd the owl would stay put during the day.

    My Christmas spirit was dampened but my faith was increased by that event. Over the years, every time I’ve experienced a painful loss, would you believe that some type of owl shows up. I may just be looking for them but they always seem to appear and it brings instant comfort.

    I wrote a short story about it once but after it was rejected and we moved, I forgot about it until this morning.

    It’s taught me to appreciate the time you have with the ones you love and not to focus so much on the gifts.

    Hope you all have a very Merry Christmas!

    • Cindy, the same thing happened to me after I lost my parents (age 19) only with a red cardinal. Through the years a cardinal has always been there through the rough times regardless of the time of year. I’ve even seen him/her in the dead of winter. Hang onto your owl, Cindy, and Merry Christmas to you and yours.

      • So sorry that you went through that Sue. I think it’s pretty cool that we have a similar story. : ) I’ll look at red cardinals a little differently from now on.

  8. Even after the magic of Santa Claus faded for me as a child, I was able to revive it by assisting Santa on behalf of my younger sisters. I remember hiding trinkets in the fireplace. Imagine the excitement when we “found” treasures that St. Nick had dropped the night before! And that’s the true spirit of Santa Claus–the joy of giving, not receiving. Great story, Jim–Merry Christmas to you and yours!

  9. Great story, and thank you for posting it.

    The biggest thing I ever asked for was a John Deere tractor (pedal power) with a trailer and a bale of green hay. The Progressive Farmer magazine ads showed bales of hay that were still green. No one baled hay while it was green, and no one had any bales small enough to fit in a pedal-power tractor’s trailer. On Christmas morning, there was a red International Farmall tractor and trailer; but, alas, no green hay. No hay at all. We wore that tractor and trailer out. When the pedal shaft broke, we sat on the hood and drove it backwards, pushing with our feet. A great gift.

    Thank you for all the great help from your posts and books. Have yourself a merry, merry Christmas. All the best for 2016.

  10. I’ve tried to keep some of the ‘magic’ alive but after ten years of playing Santa to the boys I think they’ve figured out the truth. But we’ve written letters for the ‘owls’ and left them in the fireplace (my husband’s tradition – the owls took the letter to Santa – all pre-Harry Potter mind you!) and have left fake reindeer tracks and half eaten carrots and candy canes (which reindeers love, obviously!). My husband and I enjoyed sipping Santa’s whiskey and eating his cookies and helping the boys track Santa’s progress via Norad. I always think the true magic comes from family and this year (as every other) I try to keep that excitement, fun and love intact (despite the Christmas stress and frenzy). My boys’ undying belief in the power of my stories is my hot-air balloon:) No gifts required!

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