My parents didn't really get what Santa was all about. I mean they picked out presents and put them under the tree and filled the stockings but it was just something they did, at least that's what it seemed like. Both of my parents were children of the depression and so didn't really see much of a magickal quotient to the formula. And then there was my brother....my elder by 11 years. He was one of Santa's helpers for sure. Had that sparkle in his eye and was full of it.....in a good way. Always had a smile, a helping hand, a sweet fellow, even if he didn't like to be called sweet. Growing up he was my hero big brother.
The year I was 4, my brother convinced my mother to get me a Hop-a-long Cassidy outfit (a TV, movie cowboy) and a 42" bride doll. He even gave her half the money for the doll from his job at the movie theater. There is a picture of me somewhere, on Christmas morning with my black cowboy outfit with silver buttons including the big silver shiney buttons, walking this bride doll almost as tall as me along the sidewalk out in front of our house. In the background you can see this duffous smiling skinny teenaged boy with a grin as big as his heart.
This is also the same year I heard Santa's bells outside my window and found the biggest footprints in the snow along with reindeer hoof prints. Years later I asked him how he had done it and he still insisted that he had nothing to do with any of that, with the same duffous grin on his sweet face.
Sometimes when I think of the "icky" things that happened when I was a little girl, I refocus on the unabashed love that my big brother showered on me with such pure abandon. I was blessed by one of Santa's best helpers.....I wish I would have written Santa and let him know...........but I'm sure he does.
In life we need to stop and see all the magick and then rejoice in it.
Johnny, you were the best brother in the whole wide world.