Chapter 7 of Tales I Can Remember, by Elsie Swagerty Burton
Another of the recollections of the times at the house in Ceres is a Christmas memory. The Christmas shopping was done through the Montgomery Ward or Sears and Roebuck catalogues. There was no parcel delivery in the small town and there came a day when a notice was left in the mail box indicating there was a package to be picked up. Father would not be home in time to do it before Santa’s visit. Mother had babies and small children and it was a cold winter’s day, but she did have a robust eight year old who could do the errand. I was glad to be considered old enough to be sent. When the postman passed the package through the window he deliberately turned it over and a “Ma-ma” sound came forth he said, “I guess we know what Santa is bringing.” It was then that the whole Santa thing became a myth. I was delighted that I knew but was saddened, too, because it was such a fantasy world I now had to leave.
I can remember back to another time several years before when I was only five. Christmas was celebrated at the Aldrich’s. It was in the larger, two-storied Victorian. The grown-ups had alerted us children that it was about time for Santa to arrive. I began putting together a devilish scheme. The brothers and cousins, there must have been five or six of us, all gathered and devised a plan whereby we could surround Santa. I figured he wouldn’t be able to allow that and maybe we could get him to run and leave his sack behind and so then we would have all the toys in his bag. Well, those children worked up to such a pitch that when Santa did come they ran to the adjoining room and hid under the bed. I was disgusted! Santa did leave his bag but it only had oranges left in it.
I started third grade while we still lived at the house in Ceres. Tests were taken in the fields of reading, writing and arithmetic to determine our level of achievement. The classroom seating was arranged on the results of these tests and I was seated among the first three. I was feeling very good. Mother had stitched a lovely new wardrobe which was comparable to those of my classmates and the world was my oyster. Then one fine day in early October, I get news that we are moving again. This time it will be clear out of the San Joaquin Valley.
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