The Bells in The Box

I was reading Jenn's blog about her encounter with Santa and it got me to thinking about one of my own encounters.

I'm not sure how old I was but we still lived in the house on Vilven Lane, so I was younger than being in the 5th grade. I can date this because we moved from that house the summer before I started junior high school in the fall of 1965.

I remember it being a typical Houston Christmas Eve. No snow, ice or rain, but there was a nip in the air. The day had been free of clouds and we were all anticipating an evening of going to church for the Christmas Eve service and then the arrival of Santa. Even though we did not have a fireplace, I never questioned how he got into the house and never was concerned about "a stranger" coming into the house in the middle of the night. Ours was a safe and cozy existance, provided for by our parents. We had no reason to be afraid of anything happening and completely trusted out parents to care for us. We knew they would not allow anything to happen to us or the house that would shatter that reality. The best evidence I had of the arrival of Santa was not the gifts under the tree or the stockings being "hung with care". It was the fact that the snack we had left out, egg nog and chocolate chip cookies, was gone. I was so glad to know that Santa and I shared the same love for the same snack.

Anyway...this one particular Christmas Eve, we were in the house doing our "house thing" (I honestly do not remeber what the "house thing" was other than we were in the house). Suddenly, there arose on the house "such a clatter". There was the sound of sleigh bells and thumping sounds of reindeer paws on the roof of the house, accompanied by a deep, rich "Ho, Ho, Ho!" My brother and I ran outside because we knew we were going to catch the Jolly Old Elf in the act and get to see him work his magic for ourselves. The sun was still up though low in the western sky (this should have been our first clue). We ran out the front door. Don't see him. Ran around the house to the back yard. No Santa. Ran back to the front yard. No evidence that we could see. We hollered at Mom and Dad, who were outside, but they didn't know what we were talking about. They checked around the house and looked on the roof but they didn't see anything. I remember trying to get my Dad to get the ladder and climb up on the roof for a closer inspection. There had to be skid marks from the sleigh or hoof prints from the reindeer. Since the house was a small house and there weren't any trees to hide the view, there wasn't really any reason for a closer look. The entire roof could be seen from the ground. It was just the exuberance of a young boy hoping and being caught up in the moment.

Not long after this incident, I met this guy who claimed he was Santa Claus. He asked me if I would like to meet Santa Claus. When I told him 'yes', he introduced himself to me as Santa and stuck out his hand to shake my hand. My first reaction was to return the shake and then it was . . . "Oh, yea, right!" But he insisted. Reality was beginning to settle in. I was jaw-dropping-and-hitting-the-floor crestfallen. I vivdly remember the ache and hurt in my chest. Disappointment does not begin to describe the feeling. Christmas was never going to be the same again. I just found it hard to believe that he was who he claimed to be. I just couldn't really believe he was/is Santa. However, as time has gone by, I've tired very hard to never really let on to him that I was in the "disbelieving zone". The fantasy had to continue in some fashion or form for both of us.

Well, the years have passed and not too many years ago a set of sleigh bells appeared over the front doorway of our house on Hazelhurst in Houston. They hung there for several years and each time someone would enter or exit through that doorway...ching! ching! ching! ching! ching! I am told these bells came from my great-grandparent's sleigh. They are obviously old and have this rich, full sound.

Kind of like that which comes from the roof of a house on Christmas Eve so many years ago, now brought forth in the memory of a middle aged man.

Those bells are now in my possession. They are in a non-descript box on the dining room table waiting their turn to widen the eyes of a young child sometime in the future. They are one of the few things that I really "wanted" from my parents house. As we recently drove home with the "bells in the box", each time we turned, changed lanes or hit a bump in the road, there was a soft "ching" from the back floorboard. Kind of makes you smile and the heart ache less.