Life without Santa Claus
AT 7 AND TOOTHLESS, I wished to see Santa Claus in the flesh.
For hours I lay in bed and waited until our wall clock chimed midnight. It was Christmas. A silhouette moved stealthily before my eyes.
“Santa Claus is here!” I screamed inside my head, eyes peeled on a mysterious shadow that tiptoed toward the window where a red-and-white striped sock dangled from a nail.
That Christmas in our barrio was very quiet and cold. Everyone, except me, snuggled up and snored softly under the sheets.
Faint moonlight made the open window look like a television screen of grey and white and the sock a long, black leg suspended in the air.
I looked closely at the shadow, feeling like a detective that had finally caught his perp.
Alas! The silhouette that was reaching for my sock was not the fat-bellied, bearded Santa Claus. “Nanay!” I screamed violently in my head.
I pulled the sheet quietly over my head while the crackling of plastic wrappers echoed in the cold air. Candies, chocolates, lollipops and a myriad other thoughts filled mymind and kept me awake. What an interesting story. I had to tell everyone in the morning!
“Mother put candies in my sock,” I announced over breakfast. “I saw her last night beside the window!”
Mother smiled then forked fried chicken into her mouth. Father snapped one quick look at me then went on reading Time, his eyeglasses hanging loosely from his ears. My older sister patted me on the head while my three brothers continued to chew their meal. My little sister busied herself with her own little plate.
“I was sleeping next to you last night,” Mother said finally.
“But I saw you by the window!” I protested. “And how did Santa know I like green apples?”
“Santa knows what every boy and girl wants,” replied Mother. I did not say a word. I was not convinced and knew Mother sensed it. She then threatened to grab my presents and I teased her as if she were a child like me. We ran around the dining room, filling it with laughter.
Mother caught me in a corner, tickled me until my face was red then kissed me on my bony cheek. I was toothless but that was the happiest Christmas I remember.
Missing Santa Claus
I was in fourth grade when a stroke left Mother partially paralyzed. She struggled to say a word and raised her left arm if she needed something or wanted to say something. Seeing Mother bedridden and suffering pained me.
With Mother bedridden, home smelled like freshly dug, pungent earth with worms and mold. Rooms lost their life and laughter; the wall paint chipped or dulled. Dust covered bamboo chairs and the wall decor, Mother’s American roses and herba
manzanillas withered. Everything seemed awry and dead and melancholic.
Father smoked more after Mother fell ill. Every minute he belched, fire burning from his ashen lips. Cigarette butts piled up like a small hill, some littered around the wood ashtray.
Over and over, Father sang Barry Manilow’s “Mandy.” I listened secretly, trying to make sense of the lyrics. I think it was the first time I ever listened intently to an old song. After “Mandy” made sense to me, I was filled with anger.
We prayed for my Santa Claus to recover but she left us when I was in fifth grade. Life seemed to have stopped after Mother’s demise.
Without Mother, school was not cool anymore. I went through high school thinking que sera
sera, as Mother used to sing in the kitchen. I passed from one level to the next, without seeing my report card.
Teachers never understood and scolded me a lot. I wished they had asked how I felt. Along with friends, I weeded a vast rice field and earned P10 for every sack. Although the sun burned my head, it was more fun earning money than going to school.
Christmas days passed, warmer and blue like ordinary days. I shut my ears to Christmas songs; holiday decor and Christmas trees looked ugly.
Chocolates and sweets tasted bitter; green apples brought sadness and tears.
Santa lives forever
Hanging the same old sock by our window the night before Christmas became a habit. Many times I had bought, using coins from my almost empty piggy bank, some candies and little toys and stuffed them into my sock.
In the morning of Christmas, I bragged to playmates and friends about what Santa gave me. I was aware that I was fooling myself but I loved it. I learned to fake happiness.
Time made me forget Santa Claus. There were times I cried and wished Santa would come again. And if she did, even as a ghost, I would surely run to her, hug her tight and tell her never to leave me again.
On Christmas Day in 2012, my elder sister and I wore Santa caps and gave gifts to everyone at home. After the gift-giving, we all sat in one room and talked about how we enjoyed Christmas. Sister was the first to cry and soon we all did. We knew in our hearts we missed Mother.
Wherever Mother is today, I thank her. I know she helped me become a better person.
But if I could travel back in time, I would want to be 7 and toothless again, Mother and me running around the dining room, laughing and joking. The author teaches English and is Journalism coordinator at Barangka National High School. He is also a part-time English instructor at Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Marikina.