justprompts - He's Making A List
Did you ever believe in Santa Claus? Do you still believe now? Why or why not?
~
The earliest Christmas Sam remembers clearly, he was five years old. He had been learning to write, and he wanted to write his own letter to Santa. Without Mommy's help. He did need some help, though, so each day he asked his mom to spell a different word for him. He even mixed them up so she wouldn't know what he was writing. Sam shut himself in his room and carefully wrote out his letter in crayon on blue construction paper. He wanted his letter to stick out.
Dear Santa,
I do not want toys for Christmas. Can you bring my Daddy home instead?
Love,
Sam Paul
When he was six he wrote the same letter, but with more desperation. He knew Daddy wasn't gone for ever, but he still wanted him to live there again. He wanted his mom to be happy. He wanted them all to be happy.
He wrote the same letter when he was seven, but he doubted it would work. He had already gone to Boston to see his dad and begged him to move home. It didn't work. Nonetheless, Sam wrote the same letter to Santa. He was starting to doubt the existence of the man in red. After all, Sam Paul was no idiot. It didn't make any logical sense to him whatsoever. Nothing could make his father come home if Larry didn't want to. The not wanting to is what broke Sam's small heart.
Sam was at the piano, playing White Christmas. Christmas was over, but it was the song he and Dad liked to play. It made him feel good. When the doorbell rang, Sam got up to answer it. His father looked down at him with a slight nod.
"I'm back, son."
"Are you staying?"
"Yea, I'm staying."
The boy leaped into his fathers arms, grinning. Maybe Santa had to exist after all. Who else would get Larry home to him?
~
He was eleven years old and spending his first Christmas without his mother. His dad had tried to make his Christmas perfect, and Sam was real thankful for it, but it wasn't the same.
Sam played along though. He sang songs with Dad, decorated the tree, pretended to love every single present.
But it wasn't the same.
On Christmas Eve, when he crawled into bed, he picked up a piece of paper and a pen.
Dear Santa,
At my age I shouldn't believe in you or expect much more than a single man can do. However, I think if I believe in someone more than a simple man, I can believe without feeling foolish. I know it would be impossible to give me the one thing I really want for Christmas, but I would like to tell you anyway. All I want this year is my mother hugging me. My mother giving me a kiss and tucking me in. I'd exchange every future Christmas present for it if I could.
But I know I can't.
Love,
Sam Paul
~
The following year hadn't been much better to begin with. He was with his grandparents and they were telling him that he would be living with them from that point on. He had been talking to lawyers and child services over recent weeks, and he hadn't seen Dad. He loved his grandparents, his mothers parents, but they were keeping his dad away. On Christmas. Sam couldn't spend Christmas without just Mom, but Dad, too.
"Did you write your letter to Santa, honey?" Grandma asked him on Christmas Eve.
"No," he said softly, plunking the piano keys gently.
"Why not?"
"There is no Santa."
"Oh Samuel," she sighed softly.
"No Santa. Christmas is lame. And you know, we're all going to die soon anyway, why do we need so many possessions?"
It was just a couple hours later that he heard his father's familiar voice coming through the front door. "Merry Christmas!"
"Dad!" He jumped up and ran to greet his father. He didn't know why Dad was there, but he couldn't help but think Santa had helped out again.
~
His need to believe in Santa faded in the following years. Life began to go okay and he accepted what came and went. He didn't write any more letters, but he didn't stop wishing for his mother every Christmas Eve. The one night a year he'd truly let himself cry for her.
It wasn't until he was seventeen that he wrote his next letter to Santa.
"You turn," Vic nodded, shoving a piece of paper at Sam.
"My turn? I don't need to write Santa. He knows what I want." Sam folded up the note he had just written for the small child to send to Santa, and he slipped it into an envelope.
"No, Sammy. You write."
"Okay," Sam nodded. "I'll write." He took one of Vic's crayons and bent over a sheet of paper, quickly jotting a letter down. He folded it up as well and put it in the same envelope.
"Good," Vic nodded and took the envelope, then ran off to find his mother. Sam watched him go and thought over his own letter.
Dear Santa,
I know I've asked a lot of you in the past, and usually it hasn't been your typical holiday gifts. I thought I'd try once more, though. For Christmas I'd like Ava Conner to be more than just my friend. If you could help out, that'd be great.
Love,
Sam Paul
913
~
The earliest Christmas Sam remembers clearly, he was five years old. He had been learning to write, and he wanted to write his own letter to Santa. Without Mommy's help. He did need some help, though, so each day he asked his mom to spell a different word for him. He even mixed them up so she wouldn't know what he was writing. Sam shut himself in his room and carefully wrote out his letter in crayon on blue construction paper. He wanted his letter to stick out.
Dear Santa,
I do not want toys for Christmas. Can you bring my Daddy home instead?
Love,
Sam Paul
When he was six he wrote the same letter, but with more desperation. He knew Daddy wasn't gone for ever, but he still wanted him to live there again. He wanted his mom to be happy. He wanted them all to be happy.
He wrote the same letter when he was seven, but he doubted it would work. He had already gone to Boston to see his dad and begged him to move home. It didn't work. Nonetheless, Sam wrote the same letter to Santa. He was starting to doubt the existence of the man in red. After all, Sam Paul was no idiot. It didn't make any logical sense to him whatsoever. Nothing could make his father come home if Larry didn't want to. The not wanting to is what broke Sam's small heart.
Sam was at the piano, playing White Christmas. Christmas was over, but it was the song he and Dad liked to play. It made him feel good. When the doorbell rang, Sam got up to answer it. His father looked down at him with a slight nod.
"I'm back, son."
"Are you staying?"
"Yea, I'm staying."
The boy leaped into his fathers arms, grinning. Maybe Santa had to exist after all. Who else would get Larry home to him?
~
He was eleven years old and spending his first Christmas without his mother. His dad had tried to make his Christmas perfect, and Sam was real thankful for it, but it wasn't the same.
Sam played along though. He sang songs with Dad, decorated the tree, pretended to love every single present.
But it wasn't the same.
On Christmas Eve, when he crawled into bed, he picked up a piece of paper and a pen.
Dear Santa,
At my age I shouldn't believe in you or expect much more than a single man can do. However, I think if I believe in someone more than a simple man, I can believe without feeling foolish. I know it would be impossible to give me the one thing I really want for Christmas, but I would like to tell you anyway. All I want this year is my mother hugging me. My mother giving me a kiss and tucking me in. I'd exchange every future Christmas present for it if I could.
But I know I can't.
Love,
Sam Paul
~
The following year hadn't been much better to begin with. He was with his grandparents and they were telling him that he would be living with them from that point on. He had been talking to lawyers and child services over recent weeks, and he hadn't seen Dad. He loved his grandparents, his mothers parents, but they were keeping his dad away. On Christmas. Sam couldn't spend Christmas without just Mom, but Dad, too.
"Did you write your letter to Santa, honey?" Grandma asked him on Christmas Eve.
"No," he said softly, plunking the piano keys gently.
"Why not?"
"There is no Santa."
"Oh Samuel," she sighed softly.
"No Santa. Christmas is lame. And you know, we're all going to die soon anyway, why do we need so many possessions?"
It was just a couple hours later that he heard his father's familiar voice coming through the front door. "Merry Christmas!"
"Dad!" He jumped up and ran to greet his father. He didn't know why Dad was there, but he couldn't help but think Santa had helped out again.
~
His need to believe in Santa faded in the following years. Life began to go okay and he accepted what came and went. He didn't write any more letters, but he didn't stop wishing for his mother every Christmas Eve. The one night a year he'd truly let himself cry for her.
It wasn't until he was seventeen that he wrote his next letter to Santa.
"You turn," Vic nodded, shoving a piece of paper at Sam.
"My turn? I don't need to write Santa. He knows what I want." Sam folded up the note he had just written for the small child to send to Santa, and he slipped it into an envelope.
"No, Sammy. You write."
"Okay," Sam nodded. "I'll write." He took one of Vic's crayons and bent over a sheet of paper, quickly jotting a letter down. He folded it up as well and put it in the same envelope.
"Good," Vic nodded and took the envelope, then ran off to find his mother. Sam watched him go and thought over his own letter.
Dear Santa,
I know I've asked a lot of you in the past, and usually it hasn't been your typical holiday gifts. I thought I'd try once more, though. For Christmas I'd like Ava Conner to be more than just my friend. If you could help out, that'd be great.
Love,
Sam Paul
913