Santa was good to me that year [1951]. And good thing
too, because during the summer vacation that followed, that rat Michael broke the news that there was no such person as Santa Claus.
I got this real neat tricycle that was big. I mean it was
about three feet tall, and about four feet long with pedals and a chain-drive
that made it a cross between a kiddie tricycle and a full-fledged two-wheeler.
I'd join the neighborhood kids pedaling up and down the
street—up the hill and down again—always about 50 yards behind, sucking
up their dust. Of course I got no respect from those with two-wheelers, but I
was the envy of all the ones who had no wheels at all—Reggie, Michael, Laureen
and Billy Boy.
One day I smashed into a junk pile at the bottom of our
driveway and flushed out a big rat. The kids reacted in one of two ways. Half
the kids screamed and ran away, and the other half joined me as I picked up
rocks and started pelting the poor creature.
I was pretty brave until Michael informed me that all
rats have this bug that carries a disease and if you get too close, it would
jump on you (the bug would) and bite you until you die. I believed him.
He may have been stretching the truth a little bit, but I
believed him. I don't know why. He was a couple of years younger than I was. In
retrospect, he must have been talking about the plague.
There was one time I had a hard time believing him. We
were sitting on the front steps of my house during the summer of 1952, when out
of the clear blue sky he asked if I believed in Santa Claus. Of course, I said.
Well, he said, there's no such person. Santa Claus is your daddy.
Talk about being crushed! I called him a fricking liar,
and all the small-boy swear words I knew. The nerve of that little twerp
telling me there's no such thing as Santa Claus. Boy! I never realized at the
time what a wise kid Michael was. I never broached the subject with Mom and
Dad; I guess I was afraid of what their answer would be.
I was beginning to grow up and I think I made giant
strides in that direction during the summer of '52.
2 comments:
I still remember the name of my classmate who told me - as she scoffed at my belief. The devastating thing was that she was dumb as a stump! How dare she lie to me and derisively at that. Well, I marched home to discuss this with my mother and was shocked when she turned it around and asked me what I believed! The dawn of realization cut me to the very core! I was so sad. I still remember ole “Margy”” who was dumb as a stump but smarter than I was.
I have an idea what my parents would have said if I’d confronted them. Probably the same thing your mom told you, because that’s what I told my sons when they asked me.
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