Secret Santas

    By Bill Willson

I was four almost five. It was 1940, my dad was a recovering alcoholic working on a WPA project, and we were poor, but I didn’t know any of that stuff. It was the first year ever in which I had any type of real memories. We lived in the little house in a lane in West Berkeley, California. We spent almost a whole year there. I know this because I remember the rainy days of spring, before my fourth Birthday, Easter, the Fourth of July, and CHRISTMAS. The next spring when I turned five we were in another place. A whole year doesn’t sound like much, but for a kid only four, a year is a significant chunk of living. Ah, but what I want to tell about is my best Christmas, when I was a little child, and still believed in magic. I want to tell you about the first Christmas I remember, and Santa’s First Visit to my house.

When we moved into this small, brown shingle, two story cottage, in the lane, I was already a runabout. On the east end of the lane on the corner of 7th and University, was a plumbing store. The men who worked there were very friendly and they liked me, everyone liked me, I was Billy Willson. They would talk to me, and answer my questions as I watched them work in the shop that bordered our lane behind the store. There was a barber shop next to the plumbing store. The barber and I were good friends, even though he never cut my hair. Dad did that. I liked the smells that came from these two places. I visited them regularly, as I made my daily rounds in the neighborhood. There were several other places around the block that I would stop off and visit. There was an elderly couple who lived on the corner at the top of the hill, the mothers of some of my playmates, Joey’s old grandmother, and a nice lady next-door. I guess I was quite a talker; people liked my visits with them. I especially liked to stop where they gave me cookies or fruit, I never asked, they just gave them to me.

On Christmas Eve, my 23 year old brother Buddy came home to visit, and to show us his “new” car, a 1934 Ford Roadster, with a rumble seat. After dinner the family decorated our small Christmas tree set up on top of a card table, so it could be seen through the front window, by passers-by in the lane. Buddy and my 14 year old sister Leora had fun putting the tinsel on and arguing about just how and where it should go. I helped too, and the tree was beautiful when we were done.

Mom and Dad had very few presents to put under the tree that year, but I didn’t care, Santa would be there soon. Buddy took us all for a ride up in the hills to see the Christmas lights in Piedmont. There were a lot of big houses with brilliant displays of trees, colored lights, and beautiful Christmas scenes. When we got back it was way past my bedtime, but on the lighted front porch I saw a pile of stuff. When I discovered Santa had come, I came wide awake and was too excited to go to sleep. I was told Santa probably couldn’t get in the house because we didn’t have a chimney. There were a few wrapped presents for the family, and lots of things for me. He brought me a Radio Flyer wagon, a scooter, some new clothes, and a big sock filled with fruit, nuts, and candy, a coloring book with Crayons, and some modeling clay. I think our little family went to sleep that cold winter night, feeling the warmth and magic of Christmas. I don’t recall going to sleep.

I was up bright and early Christmas day. Mom let me put on my new clothes. I loaded all my treasure into my wagon, tied it to the back of my scooter, and pulled it around the block to show all my friends. With my perfect 20/20 adult hindsight I have a feeling they already knew what I had received from Santa, but they never let on. I went to show my stuff to the guys in the plumbing shop, and the barber the next day, they too acted surprised.

This special memory lingers deep in my subconscious to resurface every December and make me notice all the tantalizing sights, sounds, and smells of this magical time of year. I especially notice all the children as they look with wonder at the magic in the store windows or lights on a tree. My little boy heart is free again, to think about the Christmas when jolly old Saint Nick, brought the fun he and his elves created, in the toy-shop at the North Pole, to my house. I guess even now, seventy-three years later, I still believe in the magic of Santa’s First Visit. More importantly, I recognize among the bright lights and tinsel, the true spirit of Christmas symbolized by God’s gift given to all of the world two thousand years ago.

The End

 

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About bmwillson1936

I was born with writer's DNA, but it receded to the depths of my soul when I encountered the bitter facts of life.Much later after five decades of living I was assigned by my employer to write legal conveyances of land documents, and this drew out my natural love of words and putting ideas into the paper prison. Thus began my quest for publication.The road was long and bumpy, with occasional pitfalls, but I'm staying on until I can no longer put words on the paper that make any sense or serve no valid purpose. Here's to rebirth and the celebration of writing
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6 Responses to Secret Santas

  1. Tears in my eyes, dude. The love you’ve captured here touches my heart. Thank you.
    Talmage

    Like

  2. Me too. I visited your bog and read a bit. You asked for help, and I thought you were serious. I think I need help from you. I am new to blogging, and In my efforts to recover from an unfortunate accident, I find my blogging is failing. My son in law set me up. He thought it might help me get back to writing my novel. I have a couple of books published on Amazon but they’re not selling too much. I don’t know what to do about marketing. I guess I should just remember that everything that is worth it takes the time, and keep on blogging..

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Yes, my request for help was ambiguous in retrospect. Sorry about that. I’ve tried now to change the wording, making it clear that I think I’m a decent writer, but a complete rookie when it comes to indie publishing or trying to get traditionally published.

    Your advice about writing was perfect for me. I appreciate it and feel there is much I can learn from you about writing. You have the magic that I only vaguely understand.

    Despite my ignorance on publishing and my status of unpublished wanna-be fiction author, I believe that the Book, “Make a Killing on Kindle,” is worth reading. It’s full of detailed suggestions, as well as the contrarian thesis that social platform building is a waste of time for those who are solely seeking to sell books (as opposed to selling a service plus books).

    Also, I came across a website a few days ago that seems (so far, at least) to deliver about the same message – that most of our efforts at building a social platform (facebook, twitter, blogging, etc.) are misguided: http://outthinkgroup.com. I’m still reading the free material from this site, so I don’t actually know where they will wind up on the salient issues, but I think it’s worth checking out.

    My experience with blogging has been very positive in several ways, the first of which is that it’s helped me write a little better, and with more consistency to the voice, I think. It has also been a huge pleasure to connect with so many interesting, kind and intelligent people, some of whom read a bit of my stuff, which is thrilling. Absolutely thrilling beyond belief ! 🙂

    But I had to turn off my comments after a while because I wound up spending all my writing time answering comments and writing emails to people. Wonderful people! People I would love to know as face-to-face friends. So it was emotionally difficult for me to turn off the comments. (It’s a matter of a few clicks in the appropriate boxes in the wordpress.com software.) I’m slow and overly-thorough in answering comments, so my experience is doubtlessly atypical.

    I’m sorry you had an accident. I hope you’re recovering rapidly and completely. Kudos to your son-in-law. I also hope you get back to work on your novel. I consider it important, not just for you. You have a rare gift for writing and a benevolent heart. The world desperately needs to hear from people like you.

    All my best,
    Talmage
    storiform

    Like

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