Joy To The World

I don’t think I truly believed anymore that Christmas in 1959. The Santa Claus at our family parties and who showed up briefly before bedtime on Christmas Eve sounded an awful lot like my Uncle Dan, and I’d seen the suit hanging in his bedroom. I was given some story about Santa needing helpers, but that didn’t ring true. The Santas in all the stores were different from each other too, so it was difficult for me to believe. No one in our family had a fireplace either, we had furnaces, so if Santa tried coming down our chimneys he’d end up incinerated in the basement.
That Christmas Eve would be like all the others. Our friends and neighbors and family would flow in and out of our house all evening, drinking and singing,laughing and eating. Our house was small, and there was no escaping the noise of celebration.
Putting two young boys to bed amid such din was impossible, but around ten o’clock or so to bed we had to go.I laid in my top bunk trying as hard as I could to try and fall asleep, but it was no use, I had to listen to the noise; the sounds of adults at play. Raucous conversation, songs off-key. The silence as a joke was told, and the bursts of laughter to follow. Cigarettes and liquor,glasses clinking, food and good cheer. I listened as hard as I could, but it was too difficult to understand anything with all the voices overlapping, their volume increasing.
After midnight most people had gone and the talk was quieter, the laughter less frequent. I heard the glasses in the sink as my Mom and Aunt Sis began cleaning up the kitchen and the living room.
Carl was oblivious. He had fallen asleep long ago, and I peered down at him, amazed that he could drift off so peacefully when there was so much to listen in on.
After all the friends and family had gone, just my parents in the kitchen, speaking in hushed tones, telling secrets I couldn’t hear. As they made their way down the hall towards our room, I turned to face the wall and pretended to be fast asleep.
Looking in on us, they satisfied themselves that we were off in dreamland, and then went straight to the task at hand.
I heard them climb the stairs to the attic, and sliding away the plywood that covered the stairwell. Their voices were still hushed, but animated, and I could tell they were having a lot of fun. The sound of paper rustling; the sound of presents! Up and down the steps they went, the joy in their voices rising. I listened the whole time as they placed our gifts around the tree, laughing and whispering. I don’t think I had ever heard my parents so happy as they were that night.
I assumed the sleeping position once again as they crept past, checking in on us once more before retiring to their room. Some muffled conversation, a few more laughs,then silence.
Santa Claus came that night, but he didn’t fly away. He fell asleep in the bedroom across the hall from mine.
Carl went to sleep that night,wrapped in blankets and dreams.
I was lucky.
I laid awake and smiled.