by 
December 1963, the normal happy-go-lucky day of a 2-year old is turned upside down after an encounter with a most sinister Santa imposter.
I recently discovered the photo taken on that fateful day. This “Photographic Evidence” as I like to call it, clearly depicts my terror and peril. The panic on my face is more than just simple Santa phobia.
Most people laugh at the frightened kid and stop really looking at the photo. They fail to see the scowl under those cotton eyebrows. Look at those eyes, even now, as an adult, I wonder what he was thinking. And although his grip looks innocent enough, he was actually squeezing the breath out of me. His white gloves could hardly dull his fingernails. Even through all those clothes I could feel them on my skin. Worst of all was his breath. The pungent, gamy smell, of grilled venison wafted forth with every Ho.
Desperate to escape the clutches of this evil Claus, I deployed the only two weapons at my disposal:
- I made my body limp and, in this listless state, cried for my mommy!
- I used the advantage of a cloth diaper to the fullest and released my bladder, soaking that red suit through.
I persevered through my childhood Santas and managed to survive until adulthood. Fortunately, no Santa since 1963 was quite as bad. I have two children now, a 3-year-old and a soon to be 2-years-old and I refuse to toss them upon the lap of any stranger in a red suit. In fact, I truly believe that this year they met the real Santa. The man exuded benevolence and, to my surprise, apologized to me for the “helper” I met in 1963. Who else but the true Santa would have known about that?
“Advent Calendar” is included in the Post Title so that this post will automatically appear on Geneabloggers blog.
