I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit my Grandma on the
day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered.
"Even dummies know that!"
My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that
day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always
told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot
easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told
her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus!" she snorted.
"Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going around for
years, and it makes me mad, plain mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's
go."
"Go? Go where , Grandma?" I asked.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town
that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through it
doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money and buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait
for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother,but
never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed big
and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas shopping.
For a few moments I just stood there, wondering what to buy, and who on
earth to buy it for. Suddenly I thought of Bobbie Decker. He sat right
behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.
Bobbie Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out
for recess during the winter. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with
growing excitement. I would buy Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a
red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would
like that.
(If you know who the Author of this story is please let me know.)
