The Writer's Pen

How well I remember the time Santa came into my house in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve. I saw him! Yes, I did!

We were living on the ranch in Montana in a little white house across the yard from my uncle’s log house. I was about 4 years old. My little brother, Jerry, and I slept on the couch in the living room. I can still hear my mother working in the kitchen that night doing some baking for Christmas dinner.

Soon, the house was quiet and we finally fell asleep. We didn’t have a fireplace, so we knew Santa would have to come in through the door. I was awakened later by a quiet noise. The front door squeaked open. It was Santa! He whispered, “Shhh.”

I lay very still and quiet. I didn’t want him to know that I was awake. I was scared stiff as he slipped quietly back out the door. I was afraid to look for what he had brought. It was very dark and I really couldn’t see anyway, but next morning there was a sled with my name on it.

I had so much fun with that sled. My much older cousin, Warren, pulled me around on it and we slid down the driveway. He taught me to ride on my tummy. Oh, that was great fun! We had that sled for a long time, until we got a bigger one for our bigger bodies. I suppose Santa brought that one too.

My mother always wanted a little girlie girl, one who played with dolls, but all she got was me. Sure, I had a little doll, but I didn’t play with her much. Her name was Roberta.

When I was 5 years old, Santa brought me a large, beautiful doll buggy and a big, lovely doll with teeth and sleepy eyes. I named her Kathleen. Mrs. Santa crocheted her a very pretty, shimmery blue sweater, cap and booties, which I still have. Surely this beautiful doll would make a girl out of me. But, alas, I didn’t play with Kathleen very much either, nor with her sister Roberta. I loved my dolls but I just didn’t play with them very much. I had no playmates and my mom didn’t play dolls with me, so the truth is that I probably didn’t know how. She took that to mean that I didn’t care for them and in later years gave them away, much to my consternation.

When my tiny baby brother, Ronnie, was born, he slept in my doll buggy for quite a while. In my grandmother-hood I have made dozens of doll outfits for my granddaughters. Mom would be so pleased to know that. Maybe she did get her girl after all.

There was another exciting Christmas when Santa left a note attached to a funny looking object that read, “Look for the rest of me on the front porch.” When we opened the door there stood the much-longed-for bicycle. Jerry and I were so excited and we learned to ride it fairly quickly. We’d seen other kids ride double on their bikes, so we thought we’d try that too down the little hill.

That wasn’t such a good idea. We’d ridden but a few feet when we both fell off. We didn’t get hurt, though.

One Christmas our grandparents sent us new Cinderella and Mickey Mouse watches. They were our pride and joy. The next Christmas Jerry and I were going to see what time Santa came. We had our watches and we’d stay awake all night if we had to. We hid under the covers and shined our flashlights on them every once in a while to see what time it was. I think we lasted until nine o’clock before falling asleep, never learning what time he had come. But he did come. I didn’t get the Erector Set that I wanted, though. I went outside later, after breakfast, to look for sleigh tracks and reindeer hoof prints. I didn’t see any, but Santa’s sleigh has very thin runners and the reindeer hooves are very tiny, don’t you know.

Janet Bronson was a long-time resident of Hartley, where her husband, Bruce, served as pastor of Central Avenue Baptist Church for many years. She was a cook in the school system for many years. The Bronsons now reside in Adrian, Minn., where Bruce is pastor of First Baptist Church and Janet is retired.