Everyone has their favorite (or least favorite) Christmas stories, right? Certain Christmases stand out more than others, or you remember getting something very special that you had really been wanting. I have a few of those memories, mostly from childhood, but a few as an adult too.
I remember my grandparents taking their first trip on an airplane, coming from Alabama, to celebrate with us in Sikeston, Missouri. That same year, I got a little high chair for my dolls (I still have it). My grandpa gave me a piggy bank at that time, which I also still have. I remember the year that all I asked Santa for was a box of crayons, and I got it! I’m not sure why they were so important to me that year, but as a 6 year old, it’s all I wanted. I’m sure my parents were thrilled that I didn’t want much! “Santa” still brings me a box of Crayola Crayons every year! I remember the year that our Boston Terrier, Pepper, ate my chocolate candy cane, leaving the foil in little pieces all over the living room carpet, and I cried. I remember Christmases at the farm in Alabama, in Wichita at my other grandmother’s house, and in many homes that my family lived in during my childhood. We had a lot of good food, and played games, but we also always got to hear my favorite Christmas story…..I know what you’re thinking……it must have been about a little baby born in a manger in Bethlehem, right? Well…..yeah, that’s a pretty nifty story, but the one I always looked forward to hearing was about the time my dad shot Santa Claus.
If you knew my dad, you know he liked to tease, and was very funny. He was also a great story teller! I’m not sure how old he was in this story, but I think he would have been in his late teens or early 20’s. Daddy had two nieces, Martha and Bobbie, my Aunt Estelle’s daughters, who were maybe about 5 or 6 years old, and they were at the farm for Christmas. The family had gone to Christmas Eve services at church, and my dad and uncles decided to play a trick on my cousins. They put rocks and sticks in Martha and Bobbie’s Christmas stockings! The girls were obviously upset, and crying, asking why Santa would have done that to them when they had been such good little girls. Daddy and his brothers announced that he couldn’t do that their nieces, and decided to “take care of him.” Daddy grabbed a shotgun, and they went outside. He fired a shot in the air, one of my uncles let out a yell, and they came back in, declaring, “Well, we got him!” My cousins were a LOT more upset then, and so was their mother!
By the time I started hearing this story, my cousins were adults, and Bobbie was telling me she would never forget when my dad shot Santa Claus. She was, of course, laughing about it. I’m not sure my aunt ever forgave her brothers for that, but I think she probably did. I am completely anti-violence in any way, shape, or form, and I’m not crazy about guns, but I think this is a pretty cool story…..how many of you can say that your dad shot Santa Claus?