The Christmas we fed the Reindeer

During the holiday season of 1962 I was 8 years old and feeling very mature because I no longer believed in Santa Claus. I had talked to my parents about it, and since they wouldn't give me a firm answer to my questions, I was pretty darn sure it was a little kid's story, and I knew I was too old to fall for it anymore. Not believing didn't spoil my enthusiasm for the season, however. My three brothers were all younger than I and it was fun to be a member of the “other team” that encouraged their childish fantasies.

Then, not too many days before Christmas, Dad created a stir when he brought home several bales of hay. We lived in the suburbs of Los Angeles, in Baldwin Park, California. I could think of no reason whatsoever for Dad to bring home bales of hay, and every time I demanded that he tell me what it was for, he gave me the same frustrating answer: “To feed Santa's Reindeer”. Meanwhile, he stacked the bales one on top of the other in the backyard. “Santa Claus gets cookies, but no one ever thinks about how hungry the reindeer get, so this year we are going to give them something to eat when they stop.”

My brothers were very excited. I was mad. That couldn't be the truth! I KNEW he was spinning a story and I couldn't protest out loud and spoil the fun for the boys...but WHY would he go to all that effort to bring hay into the yard just to perpetuate a myth? Mom was no help, of course. She smiled a lot and said, “You never know...”. I couldn't figure it out, no matter how much I puzzled over the problem.

Finally it was Christmas Eve, and we kids were tucked into bed. Being the only girl, I had a room to myself and it had a window that faced the backyard with the bales of hay. Now I was really troubled. Was I wrong? Did Santa really exist? If he WAS real, I knew I had to be asleep or he wouldn't come at all. I wanted to watch out the window, but I knew that was the worst thing to do, and so I tried very hard to fall asleep. Of course, by trying so hard, I only managed to agitate myself into a state where sleep was impossible. I laid awake for what seemed like hours. And I worried! What if I ruined Christmas for everyone else by never falling asleep??

Dad was shouting when I woke up the next morning. My first thought was of surprise that I had actually gone to sleep. Then I thought about Santa and the reindeer and the stack in the backyard, and I could hear Dad announcing loudly, “The reindeer ate some of the hay!” The boys and I hurried outside to look, and sure enough, several chunks were torn away and missing from the edges of the stack, and small "crumbs" were littered around in the grass. Dad was pretty sure he could see their footprints, too.

It was a great Christmas. I got my first Barbie Doll, a "pony tail" model, and several tiny little outfits that Mom had sewn for her to wear. There was a spinning wheel for yarn creations, and a croquet set for the lawn. The boys also got lots of great things.

Oh, and there was a surprise gift that none of us expected that year: real bows and arrows! I thought it was a good thing the reindeer didn't eat all that hay, because those stacked bales out there were perfect for attaching a target to shoot at with our arrows. The significance of that fact didn't even sink into my head until much time had passed. My Dad was a clever guy. :)