Santa Knows Best

It was just about Christmas, and I was trying to be the best little girl a six year old could be. I had been hinting about getting a puppy for Christmas and my little brother Calvin, a pesky four year old, had been echoing my requests. But my mom said,” Ask your dad,” and my dad said, “I wish we could have dogs, but I’m very allergic to dogs, and I might get sick.”

            At last, we went to the Mall where Santa  (not the real one.) was stationed in the middle of a throne and surrounded by elves with snow and trees  (The snow wasn’t cold and the trees were dried out. That’s how you know he wasn’t the real Santa.) My brother sat on his lap first and sure enough, he asked for a puppy. When I jumped up and looked at Santa’s kind eyes, I suddenly realized something.

            “Santa,” I said tripping all over my thought as I leaped up on his lap. “The only thing I really want is a puppy. See, my dad is allergic to dogs. But I know the real Santa is very smart. I bet he knows some kind of dog that doesn’t make allergies.” I crossed my arms across my chest and smiled. “Whadya think?”

            “Well, little girl, I don’t think I can make any promises. Tell me something else you would like.”

            I stared down at my new Mary Jane shiny patent leather shoes and shook my head. I dragged myself off his lap and walked toward Mom. I barely heard Santa say, “I’ll bring you something special, I promise.”

            Two nights later, on Christmas Eve, Mommy helped me into my best red velvet dress. She’d been sewing all week on it. I ran my hands down the soft material and smiled. At least I got a new dress. I swirled in front of the mirror. It was so pretty. I didn’t even mind the lace scratching my neck a little bit. My brother was excited too. He didn’t fuss too much when Mommy put on his button-up church shirt and his little tie with Santas all over. After he saw my velvet dress he asked Mom to make him a velvet-something. Even I thought he looked very cute in his green velvet jacket.

            After taking a camera shot of the two of us in front of the Christmas tree we went to church. I had a solo to sing, “Silent Night”. My brother was so silly he waved to my parents when it was his turn to sing. Everyone laughed.  Our choir got a standing clap! So I guess Calvin didn’t ruin the show.

            It was late and I was forgiving Mommy for the nap she made us take because I wasn’t sleepy yet. At least it was a little bit chilly as she took us hand in hand to a neighbors’ house for a party. Lots of the neighbor kids were there. Dad was sorry, but he had to work and boy, did he miss a special treat!

            After a game or two, some jungle bell songs and our cake and punch, we heard a thud in the front room. I glanced at the clock, which bonged 12 bongs. A couple of mothers went in to see what was the matter. Then Mom called us in to the room. There, dusting the soot and ashes off himself was Santa, the real one. And I never could understand how he got past the fire in the fireplace, but he did.

            Santa had two packs of presents. As he ambled by each child, he handed out the gifts. The children started opening them immediately. My what whoops and hollers. My friend Sandy got the baby doll she’d been wanting and my brother’s friend got the video game he wanted. It seemed like everyone got the very thing they wanted except Calvin and me.

            Brother and I waited silently until all the presents had been delivered. I could feel my face tighten as we waited. There was only one left, and it was the ugliest one, all brown with a sloppy red bow on the top. But it was the biggest. Maybe it would have two presents, one for my brother and one for me. It had to be ours.

            Santa read the tag, then showed us. It had both our names printed in big letters.

            In a big gentle voice he said, “Let me help you open it. It might present a problem for you little folks.” So together Santa and I ripped off the ribbon and lifted the lid. My brother just stared.

            I felt my eyes stretch wide.

            There in the box, nestled together were two puppies. The little brown one came right to me and licked my face. The spotted one jumped over the edge of the box and into my brother’s lap.

            Then I remembered. I felt a tear drizzle out of my eye. We couldn’t keep them. Daddy would get sick.

            I looked at my mother’s face. Was she smiling? I couldn’t tell. I ran over to her with the puppy lapping at my heels. “Oh Mommy, will Daddy let us keep them? Please Mommy. I can keep them in my room.”  

            She looked up at Santa who nodded. “Well, honey, we’ll see,” Mommy said.

            “We’ll see.” That’s usually a ‘probably not’.

            We headed home each holding a wiggling, shivering puppy. “Daddy, Daddy! “ Once in the door, we scrambled into Dad’s den. His face was very stern.

            He was going to say, “No.” I felt it in my heart as it pounded in my chest.

When we brought the puppies close, he couldn’t help himself. He fell in love with them too. Although, he didn’t say yes until we promised to help take care of the puppies. So...you’ll never guess what we said!

            It wasn’t until years later that Mom and Dad told us who Santa was that night. Daddy had even fooled her with his allergic nonsense and had surprised us all with our beloved Puff and Brutus.