Old Man Christmas, a Treasure Map of Memories

Memories of the holidays when we were younger, translated…

Through the Entire Month of December, We’d Waited, with Excitement, in the Tropical Cities, Decorated with Red, Waiting, Eagerly, for Santa Claus………

The Age When We’d Still Believed in the Love, the Kindness, and the Beauties

The morning of Christmas Eve after I’d started working, dad told me, that Santa actually doesn’t exist.  I’d said, “oh”, then, put up that red and green knitted stocking I’d, hung out up, went to work.

not my picture…

The business building close by the house, would be so very prompt every single year, setting up that two-story tall Christmas tree on December 1^st, with the shiny ribbons, with the decorative flags with snowflakes and snowmen on there, the reindeers, standing guard, with the lightbulbs by the entrance.  The gift boxes stacked, underneath the tree, and, on the very top that people pass by, would  be, a gigantic plastic star, with the small bulbs, blinking by, although there was no, music, but, I’d started, playing the tunes automatically, “Oh!  You better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, I’m telling you why, Santa Claus is, coming, to town.”

That song was, so enticing, and I’d, picked it up when I was very young.  My parents sent me to a dual-language kindergarten, and, the completed list of western holidays were celebrated, the coloring of the hard-broiled Easter Eggs, the dressing up as a witch on Halloween, the decorating of the gingerbread house around Christmas, and, I’d known, all the western holidays, more so than the eastern ones.  It was, so very fun, through the entire month of December, we’d lived in, this tropical city, filled with the red, expecting, the arrival of, Santa Claus.

Perhaps, it was, about that time, that my younger siblings and I learned, to ask for a stocking for Christmas, hung it, on our bed, then, we’d, linked the terms, Santa Claus, behaving well, and, presents together.  Expecting the presents, believed, in the goodness of all people, miracles, and hopes, that, was the age of innocence.

I’d flown abroad for the very first time when I was seven, to the western coast of the U.S., other than Universal Studios and Disney Land, I had, no recollection of anything else.  My father hauled back, a delicate model train set onto the planes, and on the eve of Christmas when I was seven, we’d started, putting together, a plastic assembled tree, the cheap decorations, and those ribbons that would, often, fall off the trees, I’d sat my favorite doll onto the tree, and, in the reflection of the decorated shiny balls, I saw my own reflection, myself, as the fatty Santa Claus.  That year, the major event was, that train set from the States, the rails were, hooked up together, with the batteries working, the small train started, circling around, underneath our tree, and every now and then, the whistle would sound off.  That, was the richest scene I can ever imagine, as if, all that’s needed, was the snow falling outside, the fires started on the furnace, then, this would be, a real Christmas.  Everything can become, so real, like a dream coming true.

This, is the expectancy of the season from a child’s point of view, and, this person grows up, having experienced Christmas, and, she’s going to, carry this tradition around the holidays.