It's that time of year when I like to share a favourite story of mine, called "The Saddest Christmas Story Ever." I doubt that it will ever become as famous as CBC's presentation of "A Child's Christmas in Wales" by Dylan Thomas, but I think it has some worth in its retelling.
Before I get to that I shall have to say I question the humour in the AI which manages my massive vault of photos. I asked it to find all the photos of Santa Claus as I knew I had one of myself dressed as "that jolly old elf." What the computer offered up though was every single image of me as I guess in a line-up it figured me to be fat and jolly enough to be Kris Kringle himself. I may go back to hand sorting my images. But that was an aside. Here it is:
The Saddest Christmas Story Ever
I often got the gig as Santa Claus when we were living up in the bustling metropolis that was Clearwater, population about 2,800 if you counted dogs, chickens, and other livestock. The community's choice of me as Saint Nick was based on two primary factors: first, I was the only one who really fit the suit well, and two, I was the only one willing.
This one Christmas we were having a Skate with Santa event at the local arena and all the children from miles around streamed into town for the free skating, hot dogs, hot chocolate, and of course, the chance to put in their wish list with Santa.
The night had gone on as usual with a steady bunch of earnest young children who swore that they had been as good as angels and in turn had a long laundry list of items that they expected in return.
I had noticed a young girl waiting patiently off to one side, perhaps eight or so, and I could tell she was hesitant to come forward, so after the line had dwindled down, I coaxed her to come over. She shyly came over and climbed up onto Santa's lap.
"Ho, ho, ho little girl, how have you been this fine wintery day?" I asked in my best Santa voice.
"Okay" came the timid reply. I knew it would be a job to get much out of her.
I asked her if she had any brothers or sisters, which she hadn't. I asked her if she had the tree up yet, which she hadn't. I asked her if she'd been a good girl all year, and she meekly nodded yes.
"Well then what would you like for Christmas?" I asked, hoping it wasn't something that her parents would in fact be able to deliver on.
She answered in a voice so low, with her head facing down, that I couldn't hear her. I asked her if she could please repeat herself as Santa was getting old and hard of hearing.
"I said, all I want for Christmas is for my mommy to quit crying." her voice nearly cracking as she made her request.
It was as if I had been gut-punched. Here was this kind young girl who, while all of her friends wanted My Favourite Ponies or Cabbage Patch dolls, all she wanted was for her mom to quit crying for Christmas.
I didn't handle it well at all and tried to assure her that things would get better and that sometimes mommies and daddies have hard times like kids do. I gave her a candy cane and never saw her again.
It would be almost forty years before I could fully understand why her mommy might always have been crying. The story reminds me every day that there are those amongst us who have troubles far greater than they show on the outside. Depression, especially in the bleak of winter, can strike any of us.
During this festive season take the time to show kindness not just to your friends and family, but to any that you know, even casually, or just some random person on the street. Your one small act might help that person believe that there is hope ahead. If this is truly the season of love and giving, make sure that it applies to all.
Peace be upon you all,
Frank Ritcey and family
