A short story for Christmas when Kennedy was 8 years old. This was not written for small children.
It was, however, written for those who recently found out the truth about Santa Claus, a group to which my daughter now belongs.
“Hey, Tommy. Are you taking a bath with me?” Kennedy asked the seven-month-old, who was sitting in the empty laundry basket next to the tub.
The little boy smiled happily at her and waved the yellow duck bath toy clutched firmly in his fist.
“No, he had his bath this afternoon,” her mother said. “He’s here because the big kids have chores and homework to do.”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” Kennedy made quick work of her clothes, dropping them in a little pile next to the basket. “I love hanging out with him.”
The water was nice and hot, and she sank into it with a sigh of satisfaction, propping her elbows on the edge of the tub so she could continue to watch Tommy playing.
“I got a call from Mrs. Fox, Sadie’s mom, this afternoon,” her mother said, digging a washcloth out of the linen closet behind the door.
Kennedy dropped below the edge of the tub, sinking as much of herself under the water as possible, but didn’t say anything.
“Sadie told her that her bloody nose wasn’t as bad as your black eye.” Her mother squirted a bottle of bubble bath into the water near the faucet before perching on the edge of the tub and sighing. “Kennedy, we need to talk.”
“They were being mean to the grade ones!” Kennedy blurted out.
“The grade eight boys?”
Kennedy nodded and swished herself around until she was sitting cross-legged, her knees poking out of the water. “Sadie told them to leave the kids alone, to stop telling lies about Santa not existing. They wouldn’t leave!”
“And instead of going to get a teacher, you decided to fight them?”
“I was angry.” Kennedy scooped some bubbles up with her hands and made them into a tower.
“Did it solve anything?”
“Maybe they’ll think twice next time.” Kennedy squished her mountain fiercely, sending bubbles splashing up the wall and onto her mother’s leg. “Oops. Sorry, Mom.”
“Would it be worth it if I got angry with you right now? You know you’re not supposed to splash in the tub.”
“No,” Kennedy replied quietly.
“What could you have done differently?”
Kennedy gathered the bubbles into a large circle in front of herself. “They attacked Sadie first. If I’d run for a teacher, she might have gotten hurt worse. I suppose… I could have asked a little kid to get a teacher and screamed my head off?”
“They attacked Sadie first?” Her mother’s mouth thinned. “I hadn’t heard that part. I think we need to have a discussion with those boys and their parents with the principal present.”
“Good idea. They need to know that they can’t tell lies and get away with it.” Kennedy started making a smaller circle above the big one.
“You’re right, but Kennedy, darling, we need to talk about Santa Claus.”
“Did he not get my letter?” Kennedy asked, sloshing the water when she flailed.
“Sweetheart, he doesn’t exist.”
“Of course he does!” Kennedy said, brushing off her mother’s words unconcernedly. “I have his letters to me in my closet.”
“No, dear, your father wrote those.”
“They don’t look like his writing.” Kennedy narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her mother. “Why are you saying this?”
“He wrote them with his left hand.” Her mother waved a hand in the air. “That’s not the point. The point is that you are old enough to understand that Santa is a concept used to teach little kids about the spirit of giving.”
“But…” Kennedy couldn’t stop the tears, her throat going tight with the pressure of them. “But Santa!” she gasped. “He’s real!” She buried her face in her hands, regretting that she was in the bath and couldn’t hug her mother.
“Oh, sweetie.” Gentle hands smoothed her hair back. “I think you know I’m telling you the truth.”
“What about Tommy?” she sobbed.
“What about him?”
“If Santa’s not real, how can he bring Tommy presents? It’s not fair that he doesn’t get presents from Santa!” She inelegantly wiped her nose with the heel of her hand.
Her mother chuckled. “Your father and I will buy him Santa presents, just like we did for you and your older siblings.”
“What about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy? They’re real, aren’t they?” Kennedy asked, grasping at straws. She couldn’t believe it.
“What do you think?”
A fresh wave of sadness swamped Kennedy. “No,” she said softly, tears flowing silently down her cheeks. “I guess they’re not either.”
“But now that you know the truth, you can help make Christmas special for Tommy and for the other little kids at your school,” her mother said.
“How?”
“Well, what is it that Santa does?”
Kennedy swallowed a knot in her throat. “He gives presents.”
“Okay. And?”
“He spreads joy.”
“How do you think you can do that?”
“By being nice to people?”
“How do you want to do that?”
“I could give them presents?” Kennedy frowned. “I don’t have any money.”
“You don’t. But you have time. How would you like to volunteer with the church youth group? They’re going to be wrapping presents for the homeless shelter after the service on Sunday.”
Kennedy brightened. “I can do that! I wrap really well!”
“You do.”
“I can wrap the presents for you too!”
“Not yours,” her mother teased.
“Of course not! I want to be surprised!” Kennedy said, shocked at the idea. She leaned over the edge of the tub and gave Tommy a kiss on the forehead.
He burbled back at her and grabbed for her hair.
“No, Tommy. We don’t grab hair,” her mother said firmly. “Are you feeling better about the whole Santa thing, dear?”
Kennedy sniffed. “I’m sad that he’s not real. I feel like someone I loved died.”
“He’s still here. He’s in all of us.”
“That’s what you said when Great-Uncle Ernest died,” Kennedy accused.
“So I did. Was I wrong? He lives on in the stories we tell about him.”
“I suppose.”
“Come on, let’s get you washed.”
“But I didn’t get to play!” she protested, sticking her bottom lip out. “And you just told me that Santa doesn’t exist!”
Her mother chuckled and shook her head. “That will only work for tonight. I can make your favourite for dinner, how’s that?”
“Chicken casserole? The one with the carrots?” Kennedy said, perking up. Usually that was dinner when they had company.
“Yes, that one.”
“Okay. Can I help?”
“You can peel the carrots.”
“Awesome. Where’s my washcloth?”
Monsters! Incidental Wedding Guests by Jen and Éric Desmarais is available now!
