“We are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmastime.” Laura Ingalls Wilder.
I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus. Really, I did!
Many years ago, in a place that seems light years ago, I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus—my mommy.
You see, every year, Santa would come to our house. I remember him coming to our house in Natchitoches, Louisiana, on Oak Grove Road, then on Blanchard Road, and finally, he was able to find us on Moss Hill Terrace. We were blessed and highly favored. 
Christmas morning would start early in our house, about 5:30 to 6 at the latest. As Santa barged into my room with his deep-voiced “Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!”, he made sure everyone was up — including the dogs — and always lived up to his reputation. Excited. Vibrant. Deep voiced. Happy and upbeat.
Often, relatives would join us for Christmas and were part of the festivities on Christmas morning. Everyone there was surprised that Santa stopped at our place, or so it seemed.
Once everyone was assembled in the living room, Santa bounced around, handing out the gifts under the tree and making sure the kids had seen the things he’d brought for them — bikes, helmets, and other toys. Santa was one-of-a-kind at creating magic and spreading Christmas joy to our family. And he always — ALWAYS — drank the milk and ate the Nabisco cookies we left for him. After all, he had a long night, and we knew he’d be hungry.
Side note: Santa loved Nabisco Oreos and milk. As far as I know, he still does. We left Oreos, but one year, I wanted to leave Fig Newtons (those were my favorites then). Since my dad worked for Nabisco, we always had plenty of our favorites for Santa.
Santa handed each of us our gifts. He would identify who the gifts were for and who they were from:
- “To Chip, from Mom and Dad.”
- “To E, from Me”.
- “To Robert, from Eloise and Roy.”
- “To Joey from Santa.”
Most of the time, there was a stack of unwrapped gifts in front of me that kept me occupied, so I never saw Santa exit through the back door. And, for some reason, my dad always seemed to show up late to the gathering. It’s almost like Santa couldn’t wake him up, and Santa would leave my dad’s gifts on the dining room table. I can still hear my dad coming into the bustling activity and saying, “Why didn’t somebody wake me up?” But there was still so much activity that we barely noticed that he “slept in every Christmas.”
We had magical Christmas memories, and I learned that Santa apparently didn’t make personal visits to every house, and that was always curious to me. Plus, I’m pretty sure that not every kid got to see their mom actually kissing Santa Claus, but we have the picture to prove it. Mom, in her famous red robe that she loved so much, got to kiss Santa Claus every year. How many kids can say that?
I don’t remember many Christmas gifts I got as a kid, but some memories will live on for a while. As far as I can tell, Mommy first kissed Santa Claus at my house about 60 years ago, and it’s recorded in my mind, as well as on that Polaroid instant photo that’s now a digital photo on my phone and my laptop.
I’m a sentimental, nostalgic sorta guy, so writing about these memories set me back a few tears. But they cause me to want to create more memories, and not just at Christmas. Let’s do it together in ’24.
Merry Christmas from the Baileys.
Chip and Elizabeth.
“Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas perhaps means a little bit more.” ~Dr. Seuss.