Señor Santa Claus and a Work Bench

Señor Santa Claus and a Work Bench

                                                                                   ©KENNETH E. HALL                1 May, 2014                 Houston

🎅 There was a time, long, long ago, when I really believed in Santa Claus. To me, though, he was this nice old guy who gave other kids toys if they were good, and I guess I hadn't been too good sometimes, and so he and his reindeer would sail right on over our place, headed for other towns - other homes - other little boys and little girls. 

♫  I remember a funny song, called "Dear Señor Santa Claus" about a Mexican boy who writes Santa. Part of his letter reads:

"I don' believe you read the card last Christmas that I sent,
"You wen' to see the kids across the street - and then you went,
Dear Señor Santa Claus, I think me understand...
Sontines the toys all gone before you reach the Río Grand' "

Mom wanted a new pair of shoes. That was what she wanted more than anything else in the world during this time. Her old ones were cracked and worn and she even lost a heel once, but a kindly shoemaker put it back on for her, for no charge. She always would scrimp and save – and do without - but every single time she finally had enough saved to get those shoes, something would break on the car, or something else would come up, and whatever it was would take all the money she had put aside. 

Every cent. 

Every time. 

It made Mom very sad. I remember that year because my birthday cake was just a cupcake, with a single candle. That was it. No presents, no singing. I remember that day very well, and I also remember being content, because some people don't even get that. I didn't need material things to make me happy. That lesson is usually lost on us kids, when we grow up and become an adult.

Mom used to tell my Aunt Lucy and my grandparents that she didn’t like to get raises at work, because every time she got a raise, everything else went up in price and she’d be right back where she started. And so it went.

The days were getting short, the winds were blowing colder and colder, and stores everywhere were putting out lots of wonderful things on their shelves. Yes, we were approaching one of those special days of the year – CHRISTMAS! I knew full well that, because of our money woes, my mother was not in the position of affording much of a present for me. 

No point in asking. 

For most people, buying a couple of presents for their kids is no big deal. But for Mom and I back then, we didn’t have very much money for anything but the most necessary things – and certainly not for presents and the like. We always seemed to have some MONTH left over after the end of the MONEY! 

It was Christmastime, 1957. There was an excitement in the air, and the sidewalks of Washington, D.C. thronged with shoppers - scurrying to and fro with bags and bundles. "It;s Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas!" was playing on a storefront loudspeaker. My mother and I were walking down the crowded sidewalks, too, and where we went - ah, I will always remember.

            A WINTERTIME VIEW OF WOODWARD & LOTHROP DEPARTMENT STORE IN WASHINGTON, D.C. AS I FONDLY REMEMBER IT.

This particular evening we entered the huge, shiny, brass doors of Washington,  D.C.'s biggest and best department store: Woodward & Lothrop. Each year this huge store would have a special "Christmas-Land" - just for kids!! I had never been there, but today was different, Today, I got to go to a magical place, where no adults were allowed. 

Everything to a 6-year-old is big, bright and beautiful, but even to an adult this place was dazzling. There were dozens of things to delight any kid. And, like in every department store or shopping mall you've ever been to this time of year, there was Santa Claus - or at least a man in a Santa suit. 

We waited in a long line of kids for some time, and then I got to sit on Santa's lap - and he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. That's what every Santa Claus is supposed to do. Now I knew I couldn't ask my mother, but asking Santa - well that was a totally different matter entirely! (Especially since HE asked ME!) So I leveled with him - told him that I shouldn't ask for something, when I wasn't sick and had clothes to wear, and a roof over my head, but since he had asked me, there was one thing I wanted more than anything else. I whispered it in his ear. Funny, but I swear I thought I could see a trace of a tear in his eye. I thought I was mistaken, 'cause Santa doesn't cry.

That night I got my once-in-a-lifetime picture taken with that Jolly Old Elf. To me, that man was the real, honest-to-goodness Santa Claus, by golly! Nobody will ever tell me different.

How it worked at the store was that kids would tell Santa what they'd like, and before the children reached the end of their magical visit, the parents had the requested item already gift-wrapped. 

(Nothing was said as to exactly how parents who had no money were going to PAY for whatever was requested. Details.) 

I was very happy after that trip through Christmas-Land, so I really didn't notice the small package that my mother carried away, nor did I see the sadness in her eyes, because she couldn't get me what I really wanted. Children see things through children's eyes - and I think that's how things should to be.

Mom thought she knew what I wished for, all right. She smiled when I told her I asked Santa for it. She bit her lip, and we left without saying a word.  

We often went to "Drug Fair", the local drug store, and the following day we did some shopping there. Unlike pharmacies of that time, this place had much more than medicines, it had a whole variety of things. Even stuff for KIDS! 

Toward the rear of the store on the left side, on the bottom shelf, was a “Play-Bench.” It wasn’t made of plastic as is everything made today; it was 100% real wood. It consisted of a little work bench with holes in it, with wooden screws, a little wrench, a screwdriver, and other tools, including a little mallet.

This wasn't the first time I saw it. Every time we went to the Drug Fair, I'd run to the back and stop and looked at that little play bench. and did so  until we had to leave. How I wished I had one. But the money just wasn’t there, I knew it, and so the little bench languished on the shelf unsold.

The days flew by quickly, as days in the life of a little boy always do, and before too long, Christmas Eve had finally arrived. As I said, we had no money, so I expected little – or nothing – and had gotten used to the idea. We went to my aunt's apartment for a visit, and they gave me a nice little battery-powered drill with lots of attachments!!

I loved tools and making things, and that's why I wanted that little work bench. We went home that night and I remember looking for the longest into the pretty lights of our tiny Christmas tree, happy tomorrow was Christmas...but I really didn't expect Santa to come. 

I woke up next morning and there was something like magic in the air! It was Christmas, and that in itself was beautiful - and would have been enough for me. We did have a little Christmas tree, and all around it we had a blanket of snowy white Angel Hair - spun glass - which gave the effect of snow on the ground. The little tree had been bare of all else, except for the little lights, tinsel, and ornaments my mother and I put on it a few weeks before.

But what met my eyes, well, it beats all telling! It seemed like a dream: there was not one, but there were several boxes, all wrapped up in bright, beautiful Christmas wrapping paper, and they all had MY name on them!!!

So I was delighted no end when I opened the presents, one-by-one - and there were many very nice gifts there for me. There were little toys, socks, pyjamas, and the like. These things were sent to us by my grandparents and aunts. There was even a child's rocking chair, sent by my dad in Maryland. I was happy to see that it needed to be assembled.

"I can put it together!" I boasted, and I got my little drill and screwdriver, and within twenty minutes I had made myself a chair - a present from my father, whom I had not seen in a very long time. 

Here was a perfect Christmas scene: the room was lit by the flickering Christmas lights draped across the tree. The floor was littered with scraps of paper. And in the center of the room was one happy little six-year-old boy with an expression of sheer delight on his face. I opened the last box, then returned to playing with my drill - trying its various mixer and buffer attachments. I played like I was making cotton candy with the angel hair. 

But there was one more present - sitting alone by itself - apart from the others. I wasn't sure if it was mine, seeing as how all the others had been for me.  Mom nodded for me to check it out, and I did. I slowly unwrapped it. At first I couldn't believe my eyes. There before me was the treasured Play Bench!

It could've been made of solid gold, the way I held onto that little thing. I felt badly, though, because I had nothing to give my mother. She smiled, a tear was in her eye now, and said: "That's all right. honey - you just gave me the best present a mother could want." 

I didn't understand it back then, but I do today. 

We had a nice meal with family after that, and then we went out for a drive. The air was cold and crisp, and the skies were clearing and becoming blue. On the car seat beside me sat my treasured play bench. From then on, for quite some time afterward, I took that bench – or one or two of the tools – along with me everywhere I went. I probably appreciated that little bench more, I think, than any other gift my mother ever gave me, because it came at such a sacrifice. 

For my mother, the Christmas tree was bare, but she had the gift getting her child what he most wanted. That's what parents do.

My playground buddy, "Chipper", told me that year that there was no such thing as Santa Claus. I kinda surmized as much, considering certain presents "From Santa" had writing on the tage that really resembled my Aunt Lucy's penmanship. Let Chipper say what he wants, I know that the real Santa came through for me all right!

Soon enough, Mom indeed got a raise in early 1958, and she hurried to Woodward & Lothrop to buy that pair of shoes, and they were on sale, too! 

Dear Señor Santa Claus, I think me understand...
Sontines you still have toys when you reach the Río Grand' "