No Santa, “The Talk”

She had hoped her older sons would do the dirty work she’d put off doing since last Christmas.Each year the mother of three decorated her house, set out a manger, baked cookies. There was a feast that ended with plum pudding.

Year after year, those holiday obligations fell upon her alone.

Yet there was one particular chore she had avoided: telling the baby of the family that she’d been lying about Santa Claus.

He’d heard the rumors on the playground, of course, but refused to listen. He had a lot invested in whole North Pole and reindeer thing.

Leading up to the holidays each year, he would make a point of turning conspicuously good – good for goodness sake. His wish list to Santa grew exponentially.

Now seventy-two years later, he still recalls exactly when and where “The Talk” took place.

His mother picked him from school to get new shoes and then an ice cream at the drug store. She’d parked the Plymouth in a metered space just off the main drag.

She lit a cigarette, and there was no hiding the facial tic she suffered when she was nervous. She proceeded to tie herself in knots trying to explain why and how the truth can be “fudged” without it being a sin.

He embraced his mother’s explanation without question and then later went on to pursue a career in advertising.

That Christmas Eve, Mary and George Funk came over from next door, and as always they brought the expensive boxed chocolates people without kids have laying around the house. He called first dibs on the ones with nuts.

“The Christmas Carol” came on at 10 p.m. and the boy was allowed to stay up with the adults to watch it to the end. He curled up on the couch next his mom who, for whatever reason, fell asleep during the opening title. He would fill her in on what she’d missed the next morning.