I was a bit slow in the accepting that Santa was not some fella in a cool sleigh with unusual reindeer for power. As a matter of fact, I was at least a first grade kid when I finally approached Mama and softly said, half questioningly and half brokenheartedly that Santa isn't real, is he? It took me some time to grasp the tenets of the entirety of the ruse and we all are well aware of the qualities they build, but I shall focus on one.
The anticipation of childhood certainly makes for some good memories, and the innocent nature makes those memories special.
Down in the basement of First United Methodist Church was the fellowship hall, a room with a kitchen attached to serve meals as all good Methodists do. Word on the street is that you don't have to stop at a Methodist Church to get a casserole anymore. All you do is slow down and roll down the window. That basement room is where Santa made his yearly appearance, much to the delight of the children of the church. Christmas 1974 was no different than the rest, except Jane Wallace had a secret and it was huge!
When Santa rolled in, adorned in his bright red flannel with the shiny black boots glimmering and his red nose matching his rosy cheeks peeking from within the bushy white beard I smiled, as I also knew a secret. Miss Jane had overheard her Mama and had suspicion to believe that Santa was not in fact Saint Nicholas but rather Mister Jackie in a costume. Jane had shared her suspicions with the entirety of the Sunday School class and they were chomping at the bit in anticipation of the revealing of the true identity of this imposter Santa. I had been informed but knew not how Daddy would handle it, for he was indeed the guy that had played Santa for many years and that isn't easily hidden from three stairstepped boys!
Santa took his place by the tree as the excitement continued to grow. Jay Dowd was wringing his hands in anticipation of his moment and Elisabeth Kinney had a hand on her hip with a smirk that spoke "Nyaah nyaah nyaah!" that she dared not to utter. The scene was positively electric in anticipation until the side door swung open and Daddy walked in. As he exclaimed in his trademarked booming voice "Merry Christmas Y'all!" the place looked as if vinegar punch had been served. It was a look of sheer horror, panicked young eyeballs roving up and down Mister Jackie who is standing here before them before slowly revolving towards Santa, followed by an even stronger expression of extreme disease at the revelation that if THAT is Mr Jackie, then WHO is THAT?
It was reported that tears broke out and faces crushed into visages of remorse when they realized they had committed the immortal sin of disbelief in Santa. How dare they doubt the magic within? I honestly thought the hall would reverberate the cries forever, the hard tile floors with the BC Moore's pattern laid and the curious windows that were at pavement level on the side away from downtown. I cast my glance about and noticed a curious absence.
Uncle Dusty was always in attendance as all good Shriners do, usually after a nip or two. He loved to cast good will to the kids, and enjoyed their enthusiasm. Although he and Aunt Doris had none of their own he had many "adopted" kids, he was nowhere to be seen. As I started making connections a booming, familiar voice called out "Scooter, get on up here. You are next!" Heh heh, that was a good one.
Y'all have a rice day!