Santa F. Claus

December 17, 1993|By Grace Smith

This was written by a fourth-grader at the Calvert School.

MY NAME is Santa F. Claus. I am a fat, jolly ornament hanging on Old Granny Hobbler's Christmas tree. Mr. Ball is hanging next to me.

When Granny brought me to her house, I didn't know what I looked like. Then Mr. Ball acted kindly. He turned around and said to me, "Would you like to see yourself?"

I gazed into him and saw my reflection. So I will tell you what I look like: I have a snow-white beard and mustache, and I wear a red suit with fluffy, white lining. My belly is so large, I need red suspenders and a big, black belt with a silver buckle to hold my pants up!

I hang in a rather peculiar place -- way back on a low branch of the tree. It is very, very dangerous to be here because any second, if the branch shakes just the slightest, I will fall into the dish of water which the tree stands in. Since I don't float, and I don't know how to swim, I would drown and die.

Mr. Ball wouldn't mind falling. He floats; in fact, sometimes he actually squirms around, trying to break his string so he can drink the water! Well, I think that is just plain disgusting! The water is a greenish-brown and smells awful!

From my perch on the tree, when I look down, I can see a beautiful rug. It has a white background with silvery half moons. Near the edge there is a very pretty white braided fringe. If I look straight ahead of me, at first I see green, prickly branches, but if I look a little bit farther there is a parting in the branches. When I look through the parting, a glorious sight meets my eyes! I see two great armchairs that are green with pink and blue specks. Sometimes, if one of the armchairs is moved a little to the left, I can see the windows, and sometimes . . . just like now . . . I see snow. It's very pretty, covering the ivy in Granny's front yard.

When I hang here, staring out at the Great Outdoors, I wish I could become "real," maybe just for a day, or at least grow wings and fly out the doggie-door. A lot of times I get so bored, just sitting here with a stupid grin on my face! Sometimes I feel like my mouth will fall off, and that would make me very upset. Do you know I can't even move without having someone to bend me? I'm lucky I have Mr. Ball. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Sometimes, speaking about Mr. Ball makes me sad. It's because I know that when Christmas is over I have to go into a box, up in that deep, dark cave that smells like mothballs. There, if you inhale too deeply, you get all dizzy and feel like you're going to faint. Old Granny Hobbler calls this place an attic. Why give it such a pleasant-sounding name, when it's just the opposite?

Anyway, the real reason I don't want to go into that box is because there's a ballerina, Penelope, who actually thinks that I, Santa F. Claus, am in love with her. Of all the ballerina ornaments, why do I have to be stuck in a stuffy box with her? Since I am stuck with her, I have to spend about 11 months and 11 days bouncing around and trying to find a way out of the box.

I do not know why Penelope is so madly in love with me. I have no charm, no charm at all. Maybe it's because I'm so jolly. But I have one question: She's very pretty, so wouldn't she want a very handsome man? I don't want to be in love with her because she's so perfect, a beautiful dancer. I just don't compare to her.

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