Been There
Well-known member
In his young mind, he figured there couldn't be a Santa Clause.
After all, having lived all of his not many years in the country his power of deduction, and figuring out what was what, was more advanced than that of town kids. He had the ability to analyze things. He didn't want to believe that there really wasn't a Santa Clause, but his reasoning told him there couldn't be.
Foremost in that line of thinking was this thing about Santa coming down the chimney. In all the pictures he had seen Santa was pretty fat and most of the chimneys in his part of the Sandhills were skinny stove pipes. And then, there was the flying reindeer. He had been around critters all his short life and no one no way was going to get him to believe any of them could fly. He could maybe see, having been around plenty horses, the possibility of a team pulling the sleigh, not flying of course, but on a ground eating jog. But then reason kicked in again and he knew that no horse, even the jug-headed, cold-jawed, hard as nails outlaws his dad had broke to the harness, would have the endurance to travel as far in a single night as was reported Santa Clause did.
It wasn't that he didn't want to believe but supposing there was a Santa clause, he was kind of partial in his distribution of gifts. The kids he knew in town got a lot more than he did. He knew he wasn't particularly good all year long, but he wasn't at all bad compared to some of those town kids. And it should count for something that he did try to be good. He did his chores without being told and always minded his parents, so he was at least as good as them but they always got a heap more for Christmas.
The believing was especially tough without seeing much evidence as to the authenticity of Santa Clause. Oh, he had seen Santa at the school Christmas programs, but it wasn't real hard to figure out that it was one of the kids dads, with a red Santa suit on with a pillow stuffed in front to give him some girth. Those cowboy boots and worn work shoes were a dead giveaway.
He had always gone along with the deception, mostly because that was what was expected of him, and this bogus Santa had always brought a bag of sacks of candy and apples for the kids and he sure didn't want to upset the applecart.
He could get as carried away as any kid in his make believe play of cowboys and Indians. He didn't have any trouble believing, as he kept his ear glued to the radio on Saturday night, that Matt Dillon could out draw any bad man. And the Lone Ranger, if he wasn't real he could surely believe he could be. The masked man rode a fast horse, stood for justice, and punished outlaws. In his mind the Lone Ranger could be real a lot more than Santa Clause.
Of course his dad and mom, like most parents, perpetuated the deceptive legend and he wasn't sure if it was because they really wanted him to believe or just to have a scapegoat when Christmases were skimpy.
On one particular Christmas he wasn't expecting much in the way of gifts. He knew his parents could afford very little and if Santa didn't come through that was what he was going to get.
There was one package that morning. Curbing his anticipation as he helped do chores and feed cattle, which seemed to take forever, his dad seeming to feed more hay on that Christmas morning, he wondered what that package might contain.
When he got to open it there was a bridle for his pony, nothing fancy but a sturdy, strong leather bridle, bit, reins and all. He couldn't think of anything he would have rather gotten.
Maybe there was something to this Santa Clause thing after all. At least, he figured, it didn't hurt at all to consider that possibility.
After all, having lived all of his not many years in the country his power of deduction, and figuring out what was what, was more advanced than that of town kids. He had the ability to analyze things. He didn't want to believe that there really wasn't a Santa Clause, but his reasoning told him there couldn't be.
Foremost in that line of thinking was this thing about Santa coming down the chimney. In all the pictures he had seen Santa was pretty fat and most of the chimneys in his part of the Sandhills were skinny stove pipes. And then, there was the flying reindeer. He had been around critters all his short life and no one no way was going to get him to believe any of them could fly. He could maybe see, having been around plenty horses, the possibility of a team pulling the sleigh, not flying of course, but on a ground eating jog. But then reason kicked in again and he knew that no horse, even the jug-headed, cold-jawed, hard as nails outlaws his dad had broke to the harness, would have the endurance to travel as far in a single night as was reported Santa Clause did.
It wasn't that he didn't want to believe but supposing there was a Santa clause, he was kind of partial in his distribution of gifts. The kids he knew in town got a lot more than he did. He knew he wasn't particularly good all year long, but he wasn't at all bad compared to some of those town kids. And it should count for something that he did try to be good. He did his chores without being told and always minded his parents, so he was at least as good as them but they always got a heap more for Christmas.
The believing was especially tough without seeing much evidence as to the authenticity of Santa Clause. Oh, he had seen Santa at the school Christmas programs, but it wasn't real hard to figure out that it was one of the kids dads, with a red Santa suit on with a pillow stuffed in front to give him some girth. Those cowboy boots and worn work shoes were a dead giveaway.
He had always gone along with the deception, mostly because that was what was expected of him, and this bogus Santa had always brought a bag of sacks of candy and apples for the kids and he sure didn't want to upset the applecart.
He could get as carried away as any kid in his make believe play of cowboys and Indians. He didn't have any trouble believing, as he kept his ear glued to the radio on Saturday night, that Matt Dillon could out draw any bad man. And the Lone Ranger, if he wasn't real he could surely believe he could be. The masked man rode a fast horse, stood for justice, and punished outlaws. In his mind the Lone Ranger could be real a lot more than Santa Clause.
Of course his dad and mom, like most parents, perpetuated the deceptive legend and he wasn't sure if it was because they really wanted him to believe or just to have a scapegoat when Christmases were skimpy.
On one particular Christmas he wasn't expecting much in the way of gifts. He knew his parents could afford very little and if Santa didn't come through that was what he was going to get.
There was one package that morning. Curbing his anticipation as he helped do chores and feed cattle, which seemed to take forever, his dad seeming to feed more hay on that Christmas morning, he wondered what that package might contain.
When he got to open it there was a bridle for his pony, nothing fancy but a sturdy, strong leather bridle, bit, reins and all. He couldn't think of anything he would have rather gotten.
Maybe there was something to this Santa Clause thing after all. At least, he figured, it didn't hurt at all to consider that possibility.
