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| Generic Christmas Related Photograph |
It was Christmas day. I was five, maybe six years old. All I wanted was a remote controlled car. That's all I had wanted for at least a year running. I had asked Santa. I had asked my parents. I had asked aunts, uncles, anyone who would listen. I was the Ralphie of the remote controlled car scene. I know they weren't afraid of me shooting my eye out. Maybe they were afraid of me running over my big toe?
Christmas day came and went, and I didn't get one.
I threw a tantrum. There I was, an unappreciative recipient of a mountain of gifts, throwing a fit because I didn't get the one I asked for. I'm not sure if I got spanked, (I would have spanked me) but I probably did. That was not my greatest Christmas.
The next year I asked again. I begged. I pleaded. I wrote letters to Santa. I dared to hope again, but this year it was with tempered expectations. Truth be told, I didn't expect to get one.
It was a snowy Christmas in Findlay, Ohio. It was getting well on into the day. I was down to my last gift and, sure enough, I tore through it to find not a remote controlled car, but some other, now forgotten item.
I didn't throw a fit this time. I didn't cry. But the sinking feeling of raw disappointment that had been ominously approaching sank in. I managed a meager thank you and put my dreams to bed once again.
I had learned an extremely valuable lesson, worth far more in gold than any silly electric toy car: You don't need possessions to fully receive the spirit of Christmas. I had grown. I had matured. I was a better person. Was this the best gift I could have received?
The answer is no.
Because next, there was a knock on the front door.
This was immediately bizarre, as no one ever came over on Christmas. Christmas was a day when you simply did not leave the house. My Aunt Liz disappeared around the corner into the front room and answered the door. What met my ears made my heart leap. She screamed in surprise and ran out the door.
"Oh my gosh! Santa!"
That moment was very telling. I have long held the belief that when someone is truly shocked, taken aback, startled, when something that seems literally impossible happens, that's when you can get a quick look, even if only for an instant or two, at raw humanity. All egos, masks, fabricated personalities, which are carefully tailored to every social situation, vanish.
Such was this moment for me. I didn't have time to think or decide upon which reaction to present to the world. The absolute truth rose to the surface. I had no doubt in my mind that I was about to see Santa, the mythical flying reindeer, the sleigh, all of it, in the flesh. It was going to happen right there in central Ohio. All doubts were demolished. All niggling questions and skeptical logistical issues were washed away. I leaped up in a flash, my sister Angie on my heels, and we darted around the corner and out the front door into the snow.
There was Aunt Liz, pointing off into the sky down the street, a wide eyed look of genuine surprise on her face. The hedge was obscuring my view. In one more second I'd be around the corner and at last I would see the most magical, unbelievable thing that there is to see in the known universe.
I rounded the corner. And...nothing. Nothing but an empty street save for the snow. I looked at Angie to see if she had seen anything. She too gazed hopefully up into the sky and then all around for any sign of the departed Santa.
I was disappointed not to see him, but a spark of excitement had given way to a blaze of wonder in that moment of otherworldly expectation.
"You just missed him!" Aunt Liz said.
"What happened?" It was my mom. She, my dad, and the rest of the family were standing in the doorway watching us. They all wore curious, expectant looks. Not a knowing, wry smile in the bunch.
"Oh my goodness, what's this?" My mom said. She was looking down at two beautiful red packages at her feet. In my haste, I had run right past them. We hurried back up to the house. One was labeled for me, the other for Angie. It was big, rectangular, moderately heavy...this could be it. A hush fell over the room as we settled back in with our new packages. Aunt Liz read the note attached.
"Dear Jonathan and Angie,
These fell down behind the seat in my sleigh. I got them here as soon as I found them. Merry Christmas! Love, Santa Claus."
Heart pounding and hands shaking, I tore away at the red wrapping to reveal, at last, my own remote controlled car. It was red, big and sleek with powerful rubber tires. This wasn't some rinky-dink controlled car on a wire. This was the real deal. My delight was unspeakable as I ripped it out of its package and Angie unwrapped a Cabbage Patch Doll beside me. It was extraordinary. We had just received a special delivery, straight to the front door, from the big man himself.
It didn't matter that I hadn't seen Santa. The experience had helped imbue that particular Christmas, and the very idea of Christmas, with something fantastic. Something not altogether human. Something miraculous. It was a lesson in belief, a lesson worth learning early. The Santa myth may not be true literally, but it alludes to something that is. It alludes to that indescribable magic, that touch of transcendence that one can practically taste, smell, feel and hear in the air every Christmas season. There's a reason it's there. It's something special, and best of all, it's Real.
Merry Christmas.
By Jonny Walls
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