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THE RED SUIT On Christmas Eve in 1944, my mother and I were cleaning the living room. I guess I was not holding the dustpan to her satisfaction. She said, "If you don't hold that dustpan right, I'll tell Santa Claus on you. (Now just how many right ways are there to hold a dustpan?) Being a 7 year old, I just knew I would receive from Santa, nothing more than a switch, from the nearest tree. In her next breath, she said, "Here comes Santa Claus now." Looking out the window, I saw Santa approaching from his automobile. I dropped the dust pan, ran out of the living room and sat on a dining room chair. My mind was churning for ways to get out of this dilemma. My eyes darted to the entrance door to our stairway upstairs. Of course, that was my answer. I flew up the stairs to find sancturary in my bedroom. On the way up those stairs, I suddenly became ill, but only in my little mind. Mother and Dad both tried to coax me down from the bottom of the stairs. "Santa Claus is here to see you." I replied, "Tell Santa I'm sick in bed." I had jumped, fully clothed, under the covers, covering my head. I do not know how much time they spent trying to coax me downstairs. I only remember that Santa had to climb the stairs and reassure me that I was a good girl, and he only came to find out what I wanted for Christmas. I do remember returning to the same dining room chair and sitting on it backwards while talking to him. I guess at the time, with the back of the chair between Santa and me, I felt secure behind that small fortress. Sometime during the summer of the following year (1945), we visited with my Uncle Frank's family, on a Sunday afternoon, as was the norm in those years. There is a large room probably 10 x 25 feet, called a mud or laundry room in the rear of the home. This was the entrance the family used daily, as it led either to the kitchen or a hall connecting the bathroom and living room. The entrance to the hall was used the most, and it was here that hooks were provided for the outerwear of the family, like boots, coats, hats and raingear. While playing with my cousins in this room, I looked up and saw a red suit with white trim. As I curiously examined the red suit partially hidden by another, longer coat, I could not imagine why Santa had left his suit at Uncle Frank's. I asked my cousins about the red suit. "Dad wears it when he goes to different houses at Christmas. He was at your house last Christmas?" This led to a typical children's argument: "No, he wasn't; yes, he was," and so on. What ended it was this: "Do you mean you still believe in Santa Claus? Well you little baby." I went into the house for an adult answer to get to the bottom of this. Sure enough, it was Uncle Frank. In that moment, suddenly becoming a big girl now, I was asked to keep the secret. They didn't want to spoil my younger brother and sister's Christmas. I suppose my discovery was somewhat of a relief at the time, since I no longer had to feign illness next Christmas when Uncle Frank returned, wearing that red suit. However, as each Christmas approaches and I hear mothers reprimanding their children with; "If you don't behave, I'm going to tell Santa Claus on you," it brings back memories of Uncle Frank and the red suit. Written By: Rosemary C. Bayliss |