While surfing around this wonderful invention of the internet(thanks Al!), I have come across posts referring to the aftermath that Santa leaves in his wake. It always looks like a Tornado has run through the living room and the cleanup is something FEMA will not even attempt to help with.
My Dad, in particular, hated when things were that messy. It unnerved him to no end. He loved Santa and the two of them were very close. I never understood this until much later in life (about 12). It took me that long to get it because every year on Christmas Eve as we were getting ready to climb the stairs and await our sugar plum dreams, Dad would get his rifle out of it's safe keeping and say "there is no way I am letting that guy leave his mess in my house this year". Little did we know that it was a BB gun he was wielding as he would threaten to shoot Santa if he even tried to come down our chimney. We would beg him not to hurt Santa., as he double checked that all the doors and windows were locked.
Mom would lead us up the stairs. Tears streaming down our faces while reassuring us that she would unlock the door without Dad seeing. Intermittently as we tried to fall asleep, we would hear Dad yell, "he better not try to get in this time! I'm ready for him this year!"
Eventually, we would fall asleep. And every year without fail, Santa was able to foil Dad and get in to leave his mess anyway. And every Christmas morning Dad would chagrin about how Santa got past him.
As cruel as this may seem, the older we got the more we appreciated it. Once we realized the irony of Dad's behavior, we too had to laugh. It is now one of my favorite memories of Christmas from childhood.
Now if you are still wondering where I developed such a twisted sense of humor, this blog is not for you. My family tree has lots of branches, but they are all twisted and gnarled.