I shouldn’t complain about Santa when he was in his learning years, but it’s hard not to. He did come to our house two different Christmas Eves to leave presents, but only took time out to visit with my mother. On Christmas Eve Santa somehow told mother, ahead of time, to get her kids out of the house when it got dark. He didn’t want to be bothered having little ones under his feet while he was busy unloading.
Dad then had the chore of entertaining sister and me out in the barn while he was milking old bossy cow. Dad told us it might be possible to see Santa’s sled and reindeer if we would look through the barn cracks. Naturally, every hole and crack of proper height was used for looking purposes with no success.
When old bossy got drained of her milk, dad pushed the barn door open, and our feet got us to the house at once. Mom didn’t have time to get all the tree trimmings back on the tree that were knocked off during that rough ride in Santa’s sleigh. To Sis and me, the tree was a beautiful sight with all those toys waiting to be played with. Santa brought Ethel her first doll, Suzanne. She is over 70 years old this Christmas eve. Suzanne is now getting too fragile for Ethel’s descendants to play with.
I guess it was natural that we soon forgot about getting excited over what Santa would bring us. In fact, when reaching school age, we didn’t give a darn anymore about Santa. After kicking him out of our lives, we were on our own. It was more fun dealing directly with our parents, and was less disappointing.