Oranges for Christmas

I snuggled further under the woolen comforter in the cold back bedroom of the little house.  The moon shone  through the  bare window, its light glistening on the icy pane.  My two sisters slept soundly in the bed beside me, but sleep would not come for me.  I was wide awake. It was 3:00 a.m., just before dawn on Christmas day, 1935.   I was seven years old and had just learned one of the most significant facts of my life.  THERE WAS NO SANTA CLAUS! I thought back over the events of the  Christmas Eve and remembered past Christmases in my short life.  It was such a relief to know that there was no real Santa Claus.   It explained so many things  I had wondered about.

I was born in 1928, just as the Great Depression was descending on America.  My family, while not destitute and not homeless, was very poor.   Food was hard to come by and gifts and luxuries were almost non-existent.  However, when Christmas came, our   family always celebrated.  We had a tree, cut from the  woods behind the house, which we carefully trimmed with popcorn and other homemade decorations.  There were gifts, too and that was the cause of my problem about Santa Claus.  On Christmas morning, my sisters , Martha and Bonnie and I, found that Santa had left long brown  stockings, new underwear, perhaps an orange or  an apple under the tree for our Christmas treat.  Sometimes there would be a slice of fruitcake or a small bag of hard candies.  Never was there a shiny  necklace, a fur  muff, a beaded purse, or, God forbid, a doll.  These were always wished for; never received.  But  we had been taught to be grateful for what we had and did not complain.  After all, a bag of hard candy was special and a nice change from the solid but hum-drum meals of navy bean soup and  cornmeal mush, usual  fare  for the family.  Still, I  wondered why Santa never brought a necklace  or a doll.  He, apparently had  unlimited resources.

This particular Christmas Eve, my family and I had gone to church  for the Christmas event that was called " The Tree".  At this gathering, Santa Claus distributed gifts to all the children.  The gifts had been secretly taken to the church, complete with wrappings and name tags.  At this celebration, Santa gave me three oranges, a new pair of brown leather oxfords and a blouse that looked suspiciously  like something my mother had made.

I watched, wide-eyed,  as my best friend, Elinore Frye, received a pearl  necklace and a shiny,  glittery compact.  Another friend, Joanne Scott, got a coveted Shirley Temple doll.  I  gasped, audibly, in pain and envy  as I watched Joanne hug the beautiful doll.  I sat huddled in the church pew and wondered.  How come?  They're rich kids.  They already have so many pretty things.  They live in big houses  and wear WHITE long stockings to school.  How come Santa brings them beautiful gifts and gives me shoes and oranges?  Joanne got the doll I have dreamed of all my life.  Why?  I  felt  anger welling up inside me.  I tried to hold it  back, and be  thankful for the oranges  and clothing, but it was just asking too much. Anger consumed me  as silent tears slipped down my cheeks..
     Walking home from the church, Mother pointed up to the sky  and told the us that if we looked carefully, we could see Santa in his sleigh, rushing off  to other homes and churches to leave  children's gifts.  I refused to look.  When asked why, I told my mother  I was mad at Santa.  I poured out my heart.  I asked  Mother why  Santa was so cruel.  "He gives the rich kids beautiful gifts, and he gives us poor kids stupid  presents like oranges and ugly shoes.  I hate Santa  Claus. "  With that I burst into tears and ran  the rest of the way home, ahead of the others.  I tumbled into the house and threw myself on the couch, breathless and sobbing.  Mother quickly followed and gently folded me into her arms.

"Maxie," Mother said quietly, as she held her crying child.  "We must talk.  I think it is time you knew."  She carefully explained that there was no real Santa Claus.  "Santa is just a symbol of Christmas.  Your parents are the ones who give you the gifts.  We are poor right now, and we give you what we can.  We do not have enough money to buy dolls and other expensive gifts.  We wish we could give you the things you dream of, but we cannot."
     At that moment , relief  flooded  through my heart, mind and  body .  It was perfectly clear  to me now, and really  all so  simple.  This one small fact was a revelation to me.  My entire world changed perceptibly the moment my mother shared the truth with me.   I knew all about being poor.  And if there was no benevolent person called Santa Claus, of course I couldn't  expect dolls or necklaces.  I knew my mother and  daddy were doing the best they could in really tough times.  My  anger subsided and a calmness settled over me.
     Lying there in the pre-dawn darkness, I finally felt sleepy.  I was tremendously comforted by the new knowledge I now owned.  I turned over, pulled the covers up a little  around my neck, smiled and said to myself, "Gee, I'm lucky  to get oranges".  I slept then, contented and still smiling.