“So, you don’t believe in Santa Claus eh?” It was the mid 1990’s and my two little girls had just informed me that Santa was only Daddy dressed up. One had just started school, and the other was a day care dropout, and already they were smarter than me!
Apparently some naughty children had been telling them tales, and with Christmas just around the corner I had to move fast. As casually as I could, I finished my beer then rang my mate, who for various reasons is known as, Deadly Dave.
“Deadly,” I whispered, “we’ve got an emergency, so I’ll need you, your ute, and a Santa suit around here at sunset tomorrow.” I hung up before he could say “No.”
Deadly arrived on time, and with a quick wink to Long Suffering Wife, we sailed off into the nearby scrub to ‘pick up Santa’. There was a slight disagreement about who would be the Driving Elf, but when the dust settled Deadly kindly helped me to my feet and I said, “Goodo, I’ll drive the ute then.”
Minutes later, I puttered up the road beeping the horn and checking my mouth for loose teeth, while a deadly looking Santa stood in the back of the ute, ringing his bell, throwing lollies, and Ho Ho Ho’ing at the top of his lungs. Doors flung open up and down the street as delighted children raced outside to see Santa!
And quite a lot of adults came out as well, with many of them handing Santa bottles of beer. By the time we lurched into the driveway of Bray Manor, Santa was a very merry soul indeed, and in desperate need of a toilet.
My children watched in wide-eyed horror as Santa fell off the back of the ute, then muttering some very rude words, staggered to his feet. At this point the girls, now firm believers in Santa, ran screaming into the house, while I added ‘A New Screen Door’ to my Christmas wish list.
Yes, there’s nothing like some good old fashioned terror to add a little magic to Christmas!
Ho. Ho. Ho.