America's STORYTELLER
Telling Untold Stories in Photographs, Prose and Public Speaking
The weather here
really is frightful:
but...as the song says...
"the f i r e is so delightful!"
SONG: Let It Snow
CLICK on the link or COPY & PASTE the link in your browser:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBXEgcQxjH4
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The song, Let It Snow, was created by lyricist Sammy Cahn and the
composer Jule Styne in 1945.
The
song was reprised in recent years when used in the Bruce
Willis film, Die Hard, which started with the film's hero traveling to
meet his family at Christmas.
Let It Snow
Lyrics
Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
It doesn't show signs of stopping,
And I've bought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
When we finally kiss goodnight,
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight,
All the way home I'll be warm.
The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we're still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Let It Snow
Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
It doesn't show signs of stopping,
And I've bought some corn for popping,
The lights are turned way down low,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
When we finally kiss goodnight,
How I'll hate going out in the storm!
But if you'll really hold me tight,
All the way home I'll be warm.
The fire is slowly dying,
And, my dear, we're still good-bying,
But as long as you love me so,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
Let It Snow
CLICK on the link or COPY & PASTE the link in your browser: http://www.carols.org.uk/let_it_snow.htm
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We are expecting snow tonight in the heart of America.
We'll light the fireplace for added warmth and ambiance.
I hope you are able to
light a f i r e in the fireplace;
pop some popcorn;
turn the lights down low;
hold on tight to someone you love. . .
as you read today's wonderful story,
"HERE LIES SANTA"
from Rebecca S.!
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2013 JOURNEY TO CHRISTMAS
HERE LIES SANTA
By
Rebecca S.
Copyright 2013
It's a long tradition in my husband's family for fathers to dress up as Santa Claus.
My husband, Frank, decided to wait until our two children were old enough to understand that there is a Santa Claus.
He certainly gave them a memory they will never forget.
In fact...the first Christmas Frank dressed up as Santa Claus, I predicted: "You are never going to hear the end of this."
It's true. The story lives in perpetuity.
My children are now adults. They continue to tell their children, and their friends about that fateful Christmas their dad dressed up as Santa Claus.
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That Christmas Eve, my four-year-old daughter, Hope, my five-year-old son, Max, and I snuggled up together under the covers on the couch to watch the Christmas classic: Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer.
Frank lit a f i r e in the fireplace -- but he was no where to be found.
He texted me: "I have a beautiful plan. Tell the children to look at the fireplace in ten seconds."
I was thinking: "Hope and Max are very smart. How is he going to pull this off with a f i r e going in the fireplace?"
two...
three...
four...
five...
six...
seven...
eight...
nine...
ten seconds went by.
"Look!"
"What is that noise?"
"Something is coming down the chimney! Could it be Santa?"
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Hope and Max bolted off the sofa, and peered through the clear glass doors on the fireplace.
Down the chimney came a pair of black boots with a body attached.
We were shocked.
Santa was on f i r e.
There were three loud knocks at the door.
I ran to the door as fast as I could, and opened it.
It was Santa.
Max gave me this look: the look he always gives me when he knows something is not right. He walked over to Santa, and moved his little finger in a gesture for Santa to bend down.
Santa obliged, and Max pulled off Santa's beard, revealing my husband's face.
Hope was still at the fireplace - watching Santa burn.
She yelled: "Help! Daddy! Help! Santa Claus is burning!"
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I did not know what to do at that moment.
What should I tell my children?
So many lies swept through my head like...
- This is a trick Santa decided to play on you, or
- Santa gave your daddy all your presents, or
- Santa didn't realize the f i r e was going, or
- Do I tell them that Santa was a bad boy that year, and that's what happens to bad boys!?!
Frank broke the ackward silence:
"Who wants to open their toys?"
Hope and Max forgot about the burning Santa, as they got presents from their dad, and piled them on their laps.
Before opening his presents Max took one more look at the fireplace and said: "Was Santa a witch?"
I don't know where he came up with that one.
Hope added:
"Daddy, why didn't you tell Santa the f i r e was going?"
We had nothing to say except: "Open your presents."
The smell of burning plastic lingered in the air as we opened presents that Christmas Eve. Hope and Max glanced frequently at the fireplace as the full body Santa continued to burn.
"This will keep the firpelace going all night," Frank said.
I was so mad I didn't know what to say.
Christmas morning rolled around. Hope and Max ran to the tree to find more presents.
Max said: "Mom, Dad, before we open presents - we need to get Santa out of our fireplace, and bury him."
Frank got a shoe box, and scooped up what remained of Santa's ashes, now mixed with those from the logs in the fireplace.
On that snowy morning, Frank, Hope, Max and I took the shoe box with Santa's ashes outside to our back yard. Frank dug a hole in the snow covered ground.
We buried Santa that Christmas morning.
Hope grabbed a little bit of snow on
the ground; put it in the palm of her hand and threw it on the shoe
box. She must have seen a similar site on television, when someone
threw dirt on a casket.
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Max and Frank covered the box with dirt and snow.
The day after Christmas Hope and Max insisted Santa needed a "grave rock" - as they called it.
We found a rock on the ground and wrote on it:
"R.I.P. HERE LIES SANTA."
Hope and Max are now adults. They continue to tell their children and their friends about that fateful Christmas their dad dressed up as Santa Claus.
Franks' family tradition continues. Hope and Max play Santa at their houses, until their children discover Santa isn't real. When that time comes for each child, they bring my grandchildren to our back yard. They show them the "grave rock" that is still there, and tell them the story of how Santa died.
Each
of my grandchildren had different emotions. It's priceless to see the
expressions on their face when their parents tell them.
On that Christmas long ago, when Frank dressed up as Santa Claus - I predicted: "You are never going to hear the end of this."
I was right.
Every Christmas, our backyard becomes a lot like a tourist attraction as children and grown-ups alike visit the grave of Santa. My children and grandchildren tell the story: "Here is where my grandpa killed Santa."
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Frank and I estimate that 1000 people walk through our backyard each Christmas season. Most of them lecture Frank about how he killed Santa.
Here are some of my favorites:
"You, man, are a disgrace to nature, and all things good," said an old man with his seven-year-old granddaughter.
His granddaughter said: "Mister, Jesus is going to punish you for killing Santa Claus."
"Well.." said Max's friend, when they were younger, "Santa breaks in to your house - and thousands of other houses on Christmas Eve - and yes, he might give presents; but who knows what he took, and put in that big bag of his?! Have you ever thought about that, man? I guess he got what he deserved."
Isn't that typical of a ten year old boy?
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Frank and I grew weary of re-telling the story. We wrote the story on a piece of paper, and laid it by Santa's grave rock, so people can read the story for themselves.
It happened just as I predicted: "Frank is never going to hear the end of this."
HERE LIES SANTA
By
Rebecca S.
Copyright 2013
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Thank you, Rebecca S., for allowing me to share your story with my readers. Frank grows more infamous each year, and I'm glad to do my part to spread the news.
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Thanks
for stopping by!
Come back often,
and invite a friend!
Merry
Christmas!
Mary Marcia
America's STORYTELLER
Telling Untold Stories in Photographs, Prose and Public Speaking
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