If You Come Down My Chimney!

I knew from the first moment that Chris answered the doorstop that he was going to be a barrel of laughs growing up. When he was just two, we had a doorstop holding the bathroom door open.

We live in Georgia, so it tended to get humid in the bathroom for lack of a window or vent, so the best way to avoid mildew was to prop the door open when not in use.

As I ran to answer the phone one day, Chris asked me what that was under the door. I said… “It’s a door stop.” Then I answered the phone.

I don’t even recall who was on the phone or what the conversation was but it ended quickly and I was back to my usual daily chores. Then the next time the phone rang, Chris scrambled into the hallway as if his life depended on it screaming… “I got it!”

He picked up the object holding the door in place, put it to his ear and said: “Doorstop.”

I laughed so hard I couldn’t answer the phone. I knew from that moment that this child was unique, an abstract thinker… occasionally difficult to deal with, but always fun.

That year, I took him to see Santa. He was excited the entire time, traipsing up and down the stairs and in and out between people saying over and over again, “it’s the ho-ho man” as he pointed at the mall Santa.

Holding Steven on my hip it was nearly impossible to keep up with the little guy because he was so excited.

Finally, our turn came. Christopher bolted right back down the stairs to his daddy and left me standing with the baby in front of Santa. I guess he decided he wasn’t too sure about the old guy.

Not wanting to make him feel like he had to do anything he didn’t want to, I merely put the baby in Santa’s arms for a photo and then departed. (You would be surprised how many people dragged their children up to the throne kicking and screaming.)

The following year, we elected not to take the children because it hadn’t gone so well before, but the following year when we mentioned we might go see Santa and let them ask for stuff for Christmas, these two monkeys couldn’t get into their shoes and coats fast enough.

While I was getting ready to go, the boys were in the living room wrestling around with their dad, their two young cousins and their uncle Dabney. It sounded like the world of wrestling exploded in my living room and this only stood to excite the boys even further.

Of course, when I went to the mall, I wound up not only taking my two children, but Dabney’s children as well, while he and my husband stayed home and watched college game day.

We arrived at the mall early enough, but still had an hour wait. While in line, the children talked excitedly about what they would ask for, what they wanted to do before school started and a host of other little kid things.

I let Dabney’s son and daughter go first as they were older and wouldn’t take long. (Believe me, they knew exactly what they wanted and Dabney would see that they got it.) Then it came time for my two beautiful little boys to go see the merry old elf.

Every time I remember this moment, it’s like it plays in slow motion. My niece and nephew meet at the rope as they leave and talk in loud tones to each other.

It seems quiet even though there is a dull murmur of voices, like in a dream. I take the boys’ hands and begin the walk up the stairs. Chris raises his curly little head and sees Santa looming ahead of him.

Immediately, his body goes limp in my grip.

“No!” He was screaming as everyone fell silent. “No! You can’t make me! I won’t go. I won’t, I won’t-won’t-won’t!”

“Okay”. I fussed between gritted teeth, squeezing hard at his little chubby digits.

“Stevie-bear, honey.” I looked at my other son. “You go ahead. Mommy’s right here. I have to get Chris out of the line so other children can go.”

Steven nodded, even though in the background of all this, his brother was pushing at my grip and screaming bloody murder that he was not going up there.

The moment we got out of line, Chris took a deep breath, a sigh of relief if you will. He stood there, watching Santa Claus with a deep look in his eyes, as though he were contemplating something awful, but couldn’t figure out how to execute it. My niece and nephew, (now that they were over the shock of Chris’s tantrum) continued talking and carrying on as though nothing had happened.

Steven appeared to be having a good time with Santa so I leaned in to hear better. As he got up, Santa handed him a coloring book and crayons for himself. Then he handed him a second set.

“Give this to your brother for me, please sir. Tell him that Santa loves him too.”

Steven made his way down the red-carpeted plank toward us, led by a slender, young, blond-haired girl in a green elf costume.

Arriving in front of us, he turned a sweet smile to his brother and said:

“Here, Chris. Santa said he loves you too.”

Not missing a beat, Chris took the coloring book, slammed it down on the ground and proceeded to jump up and down on it screaming…

“I hate Santa Claus! And if you come down my chimney fat boy, I’m gonna beat your @$$!”

I was so mortified, I lost my breath. The room spun for a moment. We didn’t talk like that in front of our children and it was all I could do not to pass out, having heard that come from my son’s precious little mouth.

People in line reacted differently. Some laughed out loud, some gasped, but every eye was on us. Santa had gasped probably the loudest, where my niece and nephew laughed the loudest. Scooping the obscenity casting little booger into my arms, we raced for the exit, little arms and legs swinging angrily all around me. I was too beside myself to do anything other than make for the car.

Chris was fine the very second I got him out of the mall. In fact, he seemed down right calm as I fastened him into his car seat.

Driving them home, I wondered what in the world would possess a child to talk like that to Santa.

We arrived back home and all the children ran for the door, dying to tell everyone what they were going to get for Christmas… everyone but Chris. He climbed out of the car, took my hand and walked with me to the house like nothing had happened. I was still too bewildered by the whole affair to decide what I was going to do with him.

As I opened the door, his uncle Dabney and his father sat at the table playing cards, and Chris hurried to the table. He peeked over the top of the table, smiling his impish little dimpled grin.

“Did you see Santa Claus?” Dabney asked, his authoritative voice booming like a professional wrestler.

“Yep.” Chris replied.

“Did you tell him what I said?”

Chris nodded as his uncle pulled a ten spot from his pants’ pocket and went back to his game as my son ran off with the money.

“Thanks Uncle Dabney!” Chris shouted as he made for the room, where he would gloat to the other children about all the money he got.

As I recanted the story to his father, a round of laughter quickly dispelled any hope I had of having his father talk to him, so I had to do it.

When I asked Chris if he thought Santa would bring him anything now that he had been such a butt to him his response surprised me.

“Well.” He said without even thinking about it, as if the thought had already occurred to him and he had worked it out. “He really is fat, so I didn’t lie. Lying is bad, but telling the truth is good.” He reasoned. “And if he really knows everything, he already knows Uncle Dabney put me up to it. And he’s Santa. He’ll forgive me, mommy.”

Shrugging, I went to bed. I guess he told me.