Christmas Through a Child's Eyes by Helen Szymanski Page B

white decorated cookie. “Oh, my goodness! It's just perfect!”
    â€œMy teacher had a real Christmas tree in our room with lights and beautiful colored balls all over it. It was the prettiest tree I have ever seen,” I exclaimed as I glanced up at the red and green paper rope that looped from corner to corner of the room, with a paper star hanging at the center crossing.
    Mama's brown eyes followed mine. “After we lost the farm during the Depression, money has been kind of scarce, as you know. But next year,” Mama straightened her back, jutting out her chin with determination, “we will have a tree with lights. Lots of lights. I promise.”
    When my sister, Ludie, came in from school, Mama divided the Santa cookie into three parts. Since it was my cookie, I got the head and one arm. We savored it, licking the icing until every bit was gone.
    After eating an early supper, Papa, Mama, Ludie, and I dressed up in our best clothes and walked the seven blocks to our church. We walked everywhere because we didn't have a car. The crisp night air numbed my nose and stung my cheeks. Most of the churches in our little town held their Christmas programs on the same night, so we had lots of company on the walk.
    Mom chose a seat at the back of the church, which gave me a fright. What if I couldn't see Santa from here? I knew he would show up at the end of the service, but he always stayed at the front of the church. I shouldn't have worried. I heard the jingling of bells first, then Santa came in from the back of the auditorium and dashed right past me, carrying a big, red bulging sack! It happened so fast, at first I wasn't sure. But when Papa let me stand up in the seat so I could see better, I knew I had seen right. And what I had seen was very confusing.
    This Santa was tall and skinny, his suit was red cotton, and his beard looked scraggly.
    Unnerved, and a bit put out as well, I whispered in Mama's ear, “He's not Santa.” I glanced at Santa again to be sure and then added, “The real Santa looks like the Coca-Cola pictures of him in the grocery store.”
    A small frown played about Mamma's forehead as she caught Papa's eye and replied, equally quiet, “This is Santa's helper. The real Santa is in his workshop getting everything ready for Christmas.” I looked at her solemnly, accepting her words as I knew I should, despite the small fear of doubt that had crept into my mind.
    I turned back to the front of the church and watched as Santa's helper called out names. Kids, hearing their names, raced to the front to get their presents. When he called my sister's name, she almost knocked me off the seat in her rush to get her present. I waited and waited, concerned Santa's helper had some powers after all and had decided I was ineligible for a gift because he knew I knew he wasn't real.
    â€œHe doesn't have a present for me,” I lamented as I searched my parents' faces.
    Just then, a booming voice called, “Emmarie Turner!”
    I caught my breath, jumped down from the seat, and ran to the front. The Santa's helper handed me a Miss America coloring book and a drawstring sack of jacks. Then he gave me a bag filled with an orange, an apple, and ribbon candy. I recognized the ring on Santa's helper's finger, and for a moment stood stock-still. Santa's helper was Mr. Allred, the man who did magic tricks for us kids. I looked up at him in awe. He was the perfect Santa's helper because the kids loved him and he loved kids!
    Clutching my presents, I turned and started back down the aisle. For a minute, fright overtook me. I couldn't remember where my family was sitting. Just before panic set in, Mama stepped out into the aisle.
    I hurried to her.
    She smiled at my loot. “Those are nice presents.”
    Grateful to be back with my own family, I looked up into her smiling eyes. “I can color a picture for you.”
    Stars filled the sky dome above us as we walked home. Mama