A Christmas Story

SANTY CLAWS IS FOR BELIEVERS

It was December 24th, Christmas Eve and Falderwing was trying to approach his step-dad to find out if he was going to get the present he had asked Santa Claus to bring.

“What smatter wid you, boy? You still b’lieving in Santy Claws?” he said sarcastically.

“Well, I, uh…” the little boy stammered.

“How old you now? Six? Hell, boy, I quit b’lieving in Santy Claws by time I was four. It didn’t take but one time my old man give me a good cussing out fer being a sissy and b’lieving all that sissy Santy Claws stuff and I lef it behind. Well, jest in case you don’t know, there ain’t gonna be no Santy Claws coming this year. Did he come last year?” the man bellowed.

“No, sir,” the boy answered meekly.

“Well, there you have it,” he said and moving his face down close to the boy’s he shouted, “And he ain’t coming this year so that ought a tell you somethin. Cause he’s broke, busted, bankrupt, out a money, gone on welfare, and he ain’t waitin on no Santy Claws to come to him neither! Now git yor tail on out to the shed as fast as yor legs will tote you and sort them taters. Throw out the rotten uns, but don’t you dare throw out any good uns. I'll tan yor hide if I catch you throwing out an good uns.”

Falderwing had grown up rapidly the last two years. His father had died when he was just four years old. His mother, without even a high school education, had tried to work and support herself and Falderwing, but could not make enough money at the jobs available in the small town.

At her last job, she had met Ben, who was involved in several different businesses that, while they did not produce a lot of income, produce enough, primarily because Ben was very frugal with the income he had. Others used less flattering words like stingy, skinflint and cheap to describe him. He didn’t believe in frilly or luxury items for himself or his family, and that was evident in his house, which was really an old shack that had never seen a coat of paint in its 40 years of existence. It had belonged to his daddy and since he learned his lifestyle from him, it looked for the most part like it did when his daddy owned it.

He owned the property on which his house sat, along with a small acreage of farmland. He grew several cash crops that he sold either right out of the field or from his truck on the side of the road, crops like sweet potatoes, watermelons, corn, peas and beans. Of course, having these crops always ensured the family would have food to eat. In addition, he trapped animals like beaver, and otter and sold the furs, plus collected the bounty on the beavers. He hunted rabbit, squirrel and deer and had a small pond with catfish and brim that were available for the family table, too. Recently, he had begun collecting junk cars and dealing in used parts.

Falderwing started out to the shed where the sweet potatoes were stacked, picking his way around the old junk cars that Ben was stacking around the house and in the nearby woods. This was one thing he liked about Ben, because he enjoyed getting in the old junk cars and pretending he was a racecar driver or police officer chasing an escaped prisoner. Sometimes they were his tank, airplane, rocketship or battleship. The only problem was in the summertime he had to bang on the car all around to stir up the wasps that loved these old cars in which to build their nests. Once before he learned of the danger, he had jumped into a car and was stung three times before he could get out. Once bitten, he never forgot to check it first so he could avoid those with wasps.

He worked in the shed all afternoon, as Ben had instructed, and as the sun was going down, he heard his mother call him. Coming to the house, she met him at the back door and he saw that Ben’s truck was not home, which meant he had some time to talk with his mother.

“Mom,” he started, “Mr. Ben said there ain’t gonna to be no Santy Claws this year.”

“Oh, is that right?” she answered from the sink.

“Yes’um, he said that Santy Claws was broke and on welfare.”

“I see,” she said, “Well, Mr. Ben knows a lot of people and he is likely to know things like that.”

“Well all I wanted was a cowboy hat and some pistols, but he seemed to mean that there ain’t no Santy Claws. Is there really a Santy Claws?” he asked her honestly.

“What do you think, Falderwing?” she asked putting the ball back in his court.

“I don’t know. Them youngans at church say Santy Claws brings them stuff every year, but I ain’t got nothing from him.”

“Well, if you believe…”

“Naw, don’t tell me about that believe stuff. I believed last year and not even a firecracker showed up!” he said with finality.

“Falderwing, I’m not sure what to tell you.”

“Well, Mom, you’re grown and I’m just a kid and you don’t know what to tell me. Did Santy Claws come to see you when you were little?”

“Yes he did, sometimes. He didn’t bring a lot of stuff, but he did come.”

“Well, ain't this something? Them kids at church say he comes every year and you said he came when you were little and Mr. Ben says he ain’t coming and he didn’t come last year, so what’s a body to think?” he said exasperated.

“Maybe he’ll come this year,” his Mom encouraged.

“Maybe, but I got a idea,” he said, his eyes brightening. “Butch Giddings, he’s 9, said that Santy Claws was gonna bring him a new bicycle. I’m gonna go over to his house and I’m gonna wait to see if Santy Claws shows up. And if he does, I’m gonna jest ask him why he hadn’t come to my house? What do you think, Mom?”

“Well, Falderwing, you’re only 6 years old and I don’t think you should be out at night like that,” his mother said not wanting him to be more disappointed when Santa Claus didn’t show up at the Giddings’.

“Heck, Mom. Ain’t nothing gonna happen to me. Nobody out there, ‘cept maybe Santy Claws.”

“But aren’t you afraid of a wild animal like a bobcat or a bear?”

“I live with Mr. Ben and ain’t no bear or bobcat meaner than him!” he said decisively.

Laughing inside herself, she said, “Suppose we forget about Santy Claws and I make us some fudge and cake.”

“Nope, I gotta know about this Santy Claws.”

“Falderwing, I don’t want you going over to the Giddings’ house. I am afraid something might happen to you and I would be so sad.”

“Well then, I’m gonna eat and go to bed, cause I been working hard out there with them old sweet taters.” He said.

“You go take a bath first, cause I don’t want you getting in bed with all that dirt from the sweet taters, cause I just put clean sheets on your bed. Now, run along and take a bath, then I’ll fix you some supper.”

After his bath and supper, he went to his room and climbed in bed, but he did not go to sleep. Soon, he heard Ben arrive and he and his mother having supper. He could hear the mumble of conversation, but not their words. At times, it sounded as if they were having an argument, but he was not sure. Then, he heard Ben say loudly, “That’s all I’m gonna say about it. I done what I done and I’m going to bed!”

Shortly after, he heard Ben get in bed and a little later the lights went off in the kitchen, his mother’s head poked in his door, then he heard her getting into bed. It was not long before he could hear both of them snoring and he quietly got up. Walking as softly as possible he headed toward the door. Every time he stepped on a board that creaked, he froze listening intently to see if he detected any difference in the snoring of his mother and stepfather. Finally he had made it outside and he picked up an old broken hoe handle. He did not think there was any danger from wild animals, but just in case he took the handle with him.

It was about a mile through the woods to the Giddings’ house and he was thankful for a full moon that shown through the trees and gave him some light. Occasionally the woods were very dark when the treetops were thick to prevent the moonlight from reaching the forest floor, but still he pressed on. Reaching the Giddings’ house, he chose the chimney side of the house since he had always heard that Santy went down the chimney. He chose a nice Chinaberry tree and climbing up found a nice fork in which to rest. The fork was very comfortable and soon his fatigue overcame him and he slipped into sleep. How long he had slept is hard to say, but suddenly he was awaken by someone gently nudging him.

“Who are you?” he said to the bearded man as he fought to get fully awake.

“Why, I’m Santa Claus,” the man responded. “Don’t you know me, Falderwing?”

“Yeah, I do, but I never seen you up close before. Are you really Santy Claws?” he asked wanting to believe his eyes.

“Yes, I am,” he answered.

“Well, then why didn‘t you come to see me?” Falderwing asked gaining courage.

“I did. I have already been to your house tonight,” he said.

“But why didn’t you come last year?” Falderwing questioned.

“Well, last year you didn’t believe I was coming.” He responded.

“But, I did believe in you last year.” He protested.

“Yes, I suppose you did believe some, but your disbelief was greater and covered up your belief. You see, I cannot exist in disbelief. There must be strong belief for it is in your faith that I exist,” Santa explained.

“But, Mr. Ben said you were not real and that you were on welfare.”

“Yes, I remember Mr. Ben. He was called Benny Boy when he was your age. Benny gave up his belief quickly after his father told him I was not real. Oh, how I wanted to prove to him that I was real, but…it’s sad that I can only go to the children who truly believe. Once a child does not believe, then I can never be real to that child again. So, you see, Mr. Ben was wrong. He lost the joy of Santa and has tried to take it from you, also. But your mom, she believed in me for you. Isn’t it ashamed that adults leave their dreams and fantasies when they are grown? They miss all the things that you enjoy. But it’s sadder when children give up their dreams. Falderwing, I’m glad you came back to your beliefs and did not let anything destroy your dreams. You must always dream and believe in your dreams, but now, I want you to lay back in the tree fork, go back to sleep and I will take you back home.”

Slowly, Falderwing awoke. He lazily stretched his arms upward, and then relaxed onto his pillow with his eyes still closed. Suddenly his eyes popped open. The dream! I dreamed I saw Santy, he thought. Was it a dream or…? Slowly he got out of bed and tiptoed to the living room. There he found a Spartanly decorated Christmas tree where before none stood. Underneath there were two presents with labels that said “for Falderwing from Santy Claws.” Opening the first, he found a tan cowboy hat with “Happy Trails” emblazoned across the front and in the second was a two-gun set of Roy Rogers six-guns.

Santy Claws is for believers.