Compost Studios

My early Christmas memories are a mix of wonder and terror. Santa Claus was both the bringer of good things and a creepy peeping Tom who staged a home invasion on Christmas Eve.

The front door of the post-war Cape Cod house I spent my early childhood in had a round window like a porthole containing very thick glass. On the outside of the door, my mother hung a molded plastic Santa face, which was much like a cheap Halloween mask. When it was in position on the outside of the door, Santa’s face aligned perfectly over the round window. The sun would shine through and from the inside of the house it looked just like someone was peering into the house, with the face magnified and distorted by the glass, the blue eyes beaming like lasers. At night it became a shadowy image, like a photo negative of a somber stalker.

By night and by day, it terrified me. This was not a merry face but a serious one. When I had to cross from the bedroom I shared with my sister to the kitchen, I ran because I had to pass in front of the Peeping Santa. I did not go into the living room alone.

“He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good so be good for goodness sake!”

Those words made my stomach queasy and heart flutter. My older sister stoked both my excitement and apprehension with various stories of Santa’s exploits and mysterious abilities. She had me at her beck and call with the fear and anticipation of Santa.

My other sisters would join in the act on Christmas Eve. Interestingly enough, on Christmas Eve the radio station they listened to would always broadcast an announcement on Santa’s whereabouts while I was out of the room. Hmmmm.

My sisters would announce with great portent, “I just heard it on the radio--Santa’s been spotted in New Jersey!” or “He’s over England right now” and I wouldn’t know whether to clap my hands or pee myself.

Our Christmas tree waited in glittery glory in the living room. All the bulbs were shiny glass and a silver garland circled the tree. It had colored lights, loads of silver tinsel, and the nativity set was set up under it. The tree itself was not very big, and on Christmas morning the presents would spill out in a huge radius from its center. Our stockings would be laid out on the sofa, always containing an orange and some nuts as well as small toys and candy.

The moment I came down the stairs, around the corner and saw the mountain of presents, I forgave Santa for all his indiscretions. I didn’t care that he’d been watching me a bit too closely or that he’d snuck into our house while I slept. I was blown away by his magic and ability to deliver so much happiness in one night. Santa: the stalker with a heart of gold.

December 19, 2005