How about those big expectations we make for ourselves at this time of year?  Like Clark Griswold in the movie Christmas Vacation, I think we all have a big plan, or idea, sometimes based on great memories and experiences of how Christmas should be, and what should happen.  When those expectations or plans don’t develop exactly the way you envision them, it may lead to disappointment or anger…and maybe even stress.

When I was a kid, our little town of Upton, where I still live and the population seems to hover right at less than a thousand, held a big event in early to mid December.  I’m not sure it had an official title, but the kids all called it Santa Day.  

In those days it was not uncommon for even little towns like ours to have a show theatre, and Upton had a pretty nice one.  It was run by a very good man named Gerald Bullard and every year on Santa Day he would show a free matinee for all the kids in town.  And all the kids who went to the free movie got a free bag of buttered popcorn, a free candy snack, and a free soda!  I don’t know how many people the theatre held but on Santa day, it was packed.  The smaller kids had to double up in the seats, and some kids even had to sit cross legged in the aisles and on the floor in front of the screen.  A large group of moms formed a contingent and held a line from  the lobby and roamed the aisles, ready with a tap on the noggin or an ear pull for anyone engaging in excessive jacking around or tomfoolery.

After the show was over, all the kids emptied the theatre and ran pell mell to the community center, a large obviously pre war building where santa would appear. There was a  busy highway which ran through town and lay between the theatre and the community center.  I think police may have stopped traffic as the yelling children jockeyed for position to be among the first to visit with Santa.

I usually ran with my two cousins, Brent and Glenn.  We were about the same age and our parents visited frequently so we hung out a lot.  One year, when we weren’t quite “big kids” yet, but we had a few Santa days under our belts, we decided we would attempt to outsmart some of the big kids and girls who tattled on us all the time and made big plans to be the first in line to see Santa.  It went like this. After you burst through the creaking giant front doors at the community center, you beat feat across the old plywood floor and jockeyed with the hawkish mom Soldiers who were looking out for their own kids, mean older kids, and the tattling girls.  Once established, you stood and waited in the rapidly forming line, heavily regulated by the Mom soldiers, who were constantly on the lookout for line cutters and other trouble makers, or to provide escort to the privy and protect your established place in line while gone.  When at last it was your turn, you quickly crawled up on Santa’s lap, ignored the guffaws and protruding tongues from your team-mates still in line, blurted out your carefully rehearsed request, acted like you were listening to Santa’s reply and ‘no promises’ speech as you tried not to laugh at your goofy tongue wagging friends.  As Santa helped you back down to the ground, one of the Mom commandos would hand you a brown paper bag and tell you to ‘wait to open it’ and “move along”.  If she happened to be the mother of one of the mean kids she would simply tell you to “GIT!” which meant you were clear to find one of the old theatre seats if there was a vacancy and it wasn’t next to a mean kid or tattling girl, or one of the old wooden benches with peeling paint which lined the walls of the building.

The paper bag was folded at the top and stapled shut. The Mom militia who prepared the treat bags would usually draw a crude reindeer, snowman, or Christmas tree on the bag with the words Merry Christmas, or Xmas if the art occupied too much of the available bag space.  The bags often still smelled slightly like magic marker, and if your hands were still greasy from the buttered popcorn, they quickly assumed the color of the literature and artwork.  Inside the bag was an assortment of hard ribbon candy, a few pieces of saltwater taffy of various and delicious flavors, and maybe a few chunks of fudge or divinity, all held and packed tightly with peanuts in the shells.  If you were one of the first three thousand or so (it seemed) kids in line, you were also treated to the sticky delicacy of a popcorn ball.  I had been able to secure one the year before, and they were definitely worth whatever you had to do to be among the first in line.

So on this particular year Brent, Glenn and I schemed during the show.  We had good seats near the front, out of reach of the mean kids, and on the opposite side of the theatre from the tattling girls.  Since we had seen the movie before, we knew it was drawing near the end and it was time to start making our move to be as close as possible to the exit at the conclusion so we could bust it for the community hall.  Brent moved out first during a dark scene.  He was quite small for his age, but he still went into a crouch, carefully stepped around some kids sitting in the aisle and started to sneak to towards the exit.  “Where do you think your going?”  Oh no…a Mom soldier on an expeditionary patrol to the front!”  Brent just said “I gotta go” and took off, nimbly dodging more aisle sitters as he disappeared towards the lobby.  The infantry mom was still looking at Brent, so I took the opportunity to whiz by her in flanking move and followed Brent’s dash to the top.  There was a big curtain which blocked light from entering the theatre from the lobby.  Brent had wrapped himself into the folds of the curtain and reached out to me as I gained the lobby, shielding my eyes from the harsh light.  It didn’t look like there was room for both of us, so I made my way to the boys room, which was locked.  The Moms on foot patrol in the lobby were engaged in some heavy visiting and paid me no mind as I waited outside the locked door.  Soon a mean kid emerged accompanied by the sound of a flushing toilet.  He gave me a quick bonk on my stocking hat, snarled at me and made his way back to the theatre to join his knot-headed companions.  I entered the destroyed restroom and unable to hold my breath any longer, I pulled my sweater and T shirt up over my nose to do business “on oxygen”.  

I shook my hands and patted them all over my pants since all the tan paper from the machine with the little crank had been pulled out and soaked with water (I’m pretty sure it was water).  There was a giant paper mound that peaked where a little garbage can stood  in the corner and flowed like lava to cover the floor.  After my hands were dry enough to grasp the handle I opened the door.  When I stepped out, Brent, smiling a huge smile was yelling “Go, Go!” he was weaving towards the door with Glenn, who had somehow also made it to the top, hot on his heels.  I fell in behind them and ignored the Mom cops who were no longer visiting in earnest whispers but frantically shouting  “Slow Down” and “Form a Line!”  They began running around trying to contain the river of kids erupting from the theatre.   I ducked and fueled by free pop and candy, accelerated and narrowly evaded the long reach of a Mom border agent as I fell in behind Glenn who was in a full on sprint. Brent hit the glass theatre door with both hands.  He had to crouch a little and Glenn and I immediately assisted and blew the door out towards the street.  

We were first out of the theatre!  Apparently the local police were blocking traffic because we were not struck down as we entered the street without looking either way.  There was a large ridge of snow plowed into the middle of the street.  Brent hit it, lost traction and slid on his belly back to the bottom.  Taking note, I kicked as hard as I could and buried the toes of my five buckle overshoes in the pile, forming steps on the way up and over.  When I reached the top, Brent flew by me and in a fluid motion jumped and landed on his rear and slid to the bottom where he picked up his stride and continued to lead us to the waiting Moms guarding the entrance to the community center.  As we approached, still miraculously in the lead, the flood of kids were making their way around the break in the snow moraine where it was broken for the intersection.

With our lead narrowing, Brent was hooked by his own Mom  who knew and was well accustomed to his evasive maneuvering.  Since she was also my aunt, I thought it better to pull up and listen to how we could not run in there, and blah blah….Brent was straining hard against his chains and as I was acting like I was listening. Glenn was waiting behind me, hands on his knees.  Suddenly a fuzzy blue coat blew by the blockade.  All we could make out was a pointed hood trimmed in white fake fur pulled up tight around an unseen face.  This provided just enough distraction for Brent to break his Mother’s white knuckle pinch on his arms and we bolted after the blue hood.  It was pretty  dark in the building, but we didn’t slow down and bolted blindly to where we knew Santas chair would be.  We could just make out the red velvet rope attached to some spray painted gold standards as we came skidding to a stop.  We heard some commotion and the red velvet covered rope was jerking violently.  As our eyes adjusted to the darkened room, we saw the blue hood being helped back to her feet by some Moms of the safety patrol.  She must have ran into the rope barrier in the dark.  HA…First in Line and a guaranteed popcorn ball.  Brent was dancing around like a prize fighter, fists pumping in the air.  I heard heavy breathing behind me.  Glenns’s thick glasses were fogging over and there were little beads of sweat forming on the tip of his nose.  His cheeks were very red, his hands were stuffed into his coat pockets. “Made it” he said and broke into a grin.  Then he disappeared.  The hood of his coat was in the grip of an ugly chapped red and unwashed hand.  It was the big mean kid who was in the can before me!  Poor Glenn was barely able to keep his feet and his hands were still in his coat pockets as he was sent sprawling to the dirty plywood floor.  Brent was crouched into a defensive stance and was crab walking a circle around two other mean kids who showed up.  It looked like it was on, so I crossed my arms in front of my chest, bit my lower lip and prepared for ramming.  But now the mean kid I was squaring up with was jerked violently backward.  He made a pouty face as a Mom Captain of the guard escorted him and the other two morons back towards the door.  There was a face grinning from beneath a pointed hood trimmed in fake fur.  Blue hood was inserted in place where the thugs were removed.  One of the Safety Moms helped Glenn back to his feet, wiped his glasses and introduced him back to his place by us in line.  

As we were congratulating each and giving each other skin (high fives weren’t around yet), we heard “Ho Ho Ho, Meeeerrry Christmas!”  Santa!  We quickly glanced at each other, then at Santa was was quickly making his way to the chair, lugging a fat green sack of interesting cargo.  Suddenly I wanted to be back where the mean kids were.  I had not practiced my pitch at all!  Santa seemed much larger, what if he turned mean this year, or something?  This was bad.  I looked around for my mom.  Nope, nowhere to be seen.  

“Well who’s first?”  boomed Santa as he took his seat looking in our direction.  I glanced at Glenn.  He was still grinning, but shook his head from side to side, quicker with every shake…the grin dissolved into a look of pure terror, and the glasses fogged over again.  I turned back towards Brent.  Gone.  Turning back towards Glenn I saw Brent crab walking behind blue coat, who was still grinning.  She untied her hood and pulled it back on her shoulders. She wiped some hair from her eyes, marched by Glenn and I, took Santa’s proffered hand and plopped onto his lap. They were having an animated conversation about bikes and ponies and stuff like she did this every day.  Santa was nodding and threw his head back and laughed loudly several times.  He was clearly agreeing to whatever terms she was laying out.  Not only was she quick as a cat, but she had guts and brains!  Santa gave her a big hug as she gracefully hopped down, contritely thanked the Mom who handed her the candy sack and skipped merrily on her way to a seat.

Santa was still laughing but he stopped and opened his eyes wide in mock surprise as he turned to me and motioned me to him.  Time stopped…I could hear myself breathing.  My feet started shuffling themselves towards Santa.   I don’t remember what I said, or what he said….I just remember feeling like no one was in the big old room but Santa and I.  I also  remember him giving me a big friendly hug around my shoulders as I was sliding off of his lap with a very satisfied  and deep happiness.  I remember taking the brown sack from a very friendly Mom who smelled really good and smiled a huge smile as I took the bounty and made my way towards whatever seat I wanted, except the one occupied by Blue Coat.  I remember not even really caring that there was no popcorn ball in the sack.   I remember passing several other grinning Moms who looked more like Moms than forward guards. I remember the look on Glenn and Brents faces as Santa laughed with them and hugged them too.  We sat quietly and watched as all the other kids in line laughed and talked with Santa.  We didn’t even stick our tongues out and pull our eyelids up so you could see the red part when the mean kids were with Santa.  In fact, as they came off his lap, they went smiling on their way, forgetting to throw us out of our premium seats.  There was a whole lot of Christmas happy in that place and it had nothing to do with being first, or popcorn balls.

We make big plans, we hustle here and there, we get so caught up in our own expectations of chasing down the season, that we often forget about what’s really important.  It’s not arriving first.  It’s not the popcorn balls.  It’s something big…be a part of it.  Whatever your traditions are, wherever you are from, slow down and remember.   Embrace it, don’t chase it.  It’s much bigger than us.  Be a part of it.