And every Christmas, as the line got shorter and I got closer to the scary big guy with the massive white beard, I would chicken out and refuse to sit on his lap and take the photo.
Not having one photo of her daughter with Santa, my mother and I evidently struck a deal when I was small that I would finally go and sit on Santa's lap when I was 21.
Growing up, every Christmas she would remind me that I'd have to take the plunge at 21. And it didn't seem like a big deal when I was 10. I could do that in 11 years.
But, as we all know, the years have a way of slipping by. Suddenly it was the Christmas of 1993. Oh my goodness...I was 21.
Mom hadn't mentioned it was the Golden Year. I wondered if it dawned on her, or if she assumed there was no point in mentioning it because I would never go take the photo anyway.
But I had to do it. You can't break a promise you make to your mother, after all. Not even one you make when you're four years old and about to pee your knickers from fear at the Echelon Mall.
So one day, in December of 1993, I went to my morning classes at Rowan, hopped in the car and drove to the mall. Echelon Mall. The mall where I tried and tried to see Santa, but failed.
I found Santa's Village outside of Strawbride & Clothier, where it had always been, and I stood at the end of the line.
The line consisted of me and about 10 children. I felt like a moron.
"Hi, Santa." I said, finally, after 21 years mustering the courage to get to the front of the line. I had never been this close.
"Who's the picture for?" he asked me as we posed for the Polaroid.
"My mother," I answered. "She's been waiting 21 years for this shot."
And yes, I may look like an over-grown baffoon. And yes, I may have an unrational fear of Santa. But I did it. And like all proud moms, my mother happily displays the one-and-only shot of me and the big guy.
Merry Christmas.
1 comment:
That is an awesome story.
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