A LETTER TO SANTA


Dear Santa,

I would first like to thank you for the gifts you've brought me these past years; they are very precious to me. I love the wristwatch you got me last two years; I still put it on, though the glass is broken, Owen played with it and it fell from his hands, I had told him earlier not to play with it because it was a special gift but he didn't listen, he is such a stubborn boy. The barbie doll you got me last year was my favorite, I was so happy that I cried when I unboxed the gift you brought. The doll was so perfect, just the way I had described it in the letter I wrote. I didn't think you would get my letter, let alone read it, because I am sure you also receive letters from millions of other kids around the world. People had convinced me that you weren't real and I was wasting my time writing to you, but I held the belief you were real and you would prove them wrong. I have explained to them how you bring me presents since my 9th birthday, yet, they wouldn't believe. Perhaps if you get them presents this year, they would believe you existed. Now, Santa, I write to you this year again. I just hope I am not writing too late as Christmas is in two weeks' time, please read my letter before other kids own, especially Owen; he had told me he was going to write his four days ago. What I want for Christmas this year will be a little different from what I have requested for before, and as you have always delivered, I am sure you will deliver this year's own too, what joy would it be if you actually do deliver it! All I want for this Christmas is to see you, talk to you, ride on your sledge across the world and take a picture with you. I hope I haven't asked too much; I believe it's something you can do. I have seen you done it for other kids in the movies at the cinema and I really wish it will get to be my turn this year. I have never seen you before, I only see the presents you drop under our Christmas tree. Other kids are usually happy when they go see Mr. Santa at the mall, but I am usually not, because Mr. Santa at the mall doesn't bring gifts to my home like you do. I have told them before that Mr. Santa at the mall wasn't the real Santa, but they wouldn't listen to me. I hope you can show up at our place this Christmas so I can ride on your sledge to their houses to prove that you are the real Santa Claus, especially Cecilia, I want to see the look of disappointment on her face and watch her cry like her baby sister when I show her you are the real Santa Claus. She argues with me every time we talk about you. Please come, my mother would be so happy to see you and I pray you also get her a gift. I asked what she wanted for Christmas and she said she'd love a necklace, I do not have enough money to get her one, so I would like you to help me get her one when you come visiting. Once again, thanks for the previous gifts you've brought. I look forward to this year's present. My warmest regards to your wife, Mrs. Santa, it will be double joy if you can bring her along. Do not worry, I will ask my mother to prepare the best cookies you have ever tasted, better than the ones Mrs. Santa prepares for you {ha ha ha]. Milk will also not be a problem; we have bottles of it reserved specially for you upon your arrival. I anticipate your arrival because I know you will read my letter and answer me as you have always done. Till then, best wishes of the season.

Yours Sincerely,
Naomi.


Teardrops rolled down my cheeks as I sat on the floor and read the letter an eleven-year-old me wrote to Santa Claus. I folded and returned it into the dusty envelope in the box. It turned out my mother had saved all the letters I had been writing to Santa, they were all kept in a box with some having part of the paper torn off. "You must have thought Santa really did get your letters." My mother said, when she saw the way I smiled at the letters in the box. She sat on her favorite armchair with her walking stick in her left hand.
"Were you the Santa I was writing to?" I asked.

"No, I wasn't," She laughed. Her cheeks still had enough strength to create a smile on her wrinkled face and display the set of incomplete teeth in her mouth. "I only acted as a mailman for Santa."

"But you never sent the letters to him." I spoke.

"I actually did," She leaned forward from her chair. I stood up to help her, thinking she wanted to stand up, but she waved at me, signaling to sit down back. "How do you think you got the presents you wished for?"

"He didn't show up for that Christmas I asked him to come. I guess you didn't deliver that letter." We started laughing immediately I said that. Her laughter didn't last long, she began coughing. Her body couldn't make her laugh hard and for long again. I stood up from the floor and poured her a glass of water from the jug sitting on the table not far away from us. She drank from the glass and returned the half full glass back to me, "Thank you." She said.

I returned the glass of water to the table. "Heaven knows how old this jug would be now." I commented on the old-looking jog sitting peacefully on the table.
"It's been in this house before you were even born; It's my mother's."

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "You said you were only a mailman delivering my letters to Santa. Who then was the Santa I was writing too?" I asked her.

"Your Father was." She answered.
"My father?" I queried. "He got me those presents?"

"Yes." She replied. "Now you should understand why Santa never came for that Christmas."
"Yes, I do. Santa wasn't real." I responded.

"Exactly. I never posted that letter to him, what you had wished for was impossible. You were so angry and livid Santa didn't show up on Christmas day that you cried the whole night of Christmas. Cecilia and Owen had come around that day hoping to see Santa as you had boasted of his arrival."

"I remember." I smiled.

"They were also disappointed because they had actually believed Santa was going to come when you told them about the doll and wristwatch. I couldn't spoil the fun for you all, I could have told you it wasn't from Santa."

"If you did, I would have wept bitterly, because it would have sounded very embarrassing in front of them." I said. "I remember I locked myself in throughout the next day, I couldn't face Cecilia and Owen after what happened." I laughed softly.

"Yes, you did." My mother laughed softly too. "That, apparently, was the last time you ever wrote a letter to Santa."
"Yeah, I figured out he wasn't real. I lost faith in him." I smiled at her.
"Since you stopped writing those letters, I and your father found it hard knowing what to get you for Christmas, which was why you didn't like most of the gift we got you in the years that followed."
"It was very heartbreaking seeing that you got the necklace I had requested for but not my own gift. I thought Santa was unfair by dropping the gift and not wait for me to see him. I hated him for that." I chortled.
"Sorry Santa didn't show up." My mother sarcastically said.

"Oh, please!" We both laughed. "How come dad was able to get the gifts if you didn't post the letters to him?" I asked her.

"We spoke on the phone; I told him what you wanted for Christmas and he'll get them."

"Did he send them or you went over to his place to get it?"

"Absolutely not, he delivered them himself. He'd put them by the doorstep very early in the morning like a delivery man. He never waited for the sun to rise upon him. He'd put a letter inside to say it was from him."
"Why did he never stay for me to see him?"
"You ask quite a lot of questions, young lady." My mother laughed gently as she spoke. I smiled too, but didn't say anything
"You asked me to come because you wanted to tell me something which you said was related to my father. So, I don't think I am too curious." I responded. My mother had asked me to visit her two days ago which I said I was too busy to see her, when she said it had something to do with my father, I changed my mind because I was dying to know about my father.

"Yes, indeed, it is about your father. He never visited or stayed for Christmas because he felt betrayed and couldn't look another man's daughter in the eyes as his own, but he loved you as his own." She said.
"What do you mean?" I became curious the moment I heard that statement.

My mother heaved a sigh and said, "Jeremiah isn't your father."

"I beg your pardon!" I yelled.

"It is true, my dear. I should have told you a long time ago but I didn't think you were old enough to understand. Now that you have grown to a fine young lady, I think it's time you knew." She didn't feel moved by the way I shouted and looked so irritated by the news, like she had already known that was going to be my reaction.
"Who then is my father? Why did you make think Jeremiah was my father all these years? I disliked him because I thought he never wanted to see his own daughter. What were you thinking, ma?" I stood up and paced back and forth as I spoke, the news was too much to take while sitting.
"Relax, Naomi." She said.

"Don't tell me to relax!" I retorted. She began coughing again, I had to get her the half full glass of water on the table. She took a few gulps from the glass and returned it to me. "It was my mistake, but as I said, you were not old enough to understand before. Now that you are an adult, you should understand better than yelling at me."

I became sorry the moment she said that. I moved closer to her and squatted beside her, holding her right hand. "I am sorry I yelled at you. The news was just too much for me to take." I kissed her hand. "Who then is my father?" I asked.

"Help me up. I have to show you something." She tried standing up from the armchair. I stood upright and helped her get up. She couldn't stand upright like I did, she supported her stand with the walking stick in her left hand. "Walk me to the bed." I accompanied her as we walked at a tortoise pace to the bed. She sat on the bed and bent over towards the small shelf beside it, pulled the second drawer and brought out a book which looked like her diary. She brought a small square-shaped picture out from the book and gave it to me. "This is your father standing beside me." I could see her and a man standing beside her in the picture. The man had his left arm wrapped around her shoulder and his other hand did a thumbs up as he posed for the camera. I really look like her in her youth.

"Who is he?" I asked, sitting beside her on the bed and staring at the picture.
"Nathaniel Lance; a friend I met at a party." She answered.
"So why didn't you marry him? And why isn't he coming out as my father?"
"I was in love with Jeremiah at that time and I couldn't leave him. I had a one-night stand with Nathaniel."
"Didn't you tell him you were pregnant for him? Or didn't he accept the pregnancy?"
"The problem is, he had left the town before I realized I was pregnant. He did tell me he was leaving town though. I never got to tell him I was pregnant." She bowed her head as she talked.

"How did Jeremiah find out?" I queried.

"I told him. I couldn't do it all alone. He was angry and mad but because he still loved me, he agreed to stay with me till I gave birth to you. He left me when you were three, he said he couldn't father a child that's not his." She answered. "I regret every single moment till now. I really wish I could turn back the hands of time so I can correct my mistakes. I really loved Jeremiah."
"You never searched for Nathaniel?"

"I did. I searched for him with everything I had but all my efforts proved futile. I couldn't find him. His friends said he was out of the country back then, so I gave up my search on him, with hopes I would see him one last time to tell him about you before I die." She coughed as she finished her speech.
"I would find him, ma. I would find him for us. It is also my wish to know my father." I wrapped my arms around her and rested my head on her shoulder.

"I hope you do, Naomi. I really hope you do. This might be my last Christmas wish. Be my Santa and grant me this wish." She patted my head.
"Oh please! Not with the Santa talk." I rolled my eyes sideways as I spoke. "I'm sorry you had to raise me all alone." I said.
"It's not your fault. I should apologize for the mistakes I made in the past which has affected you now." She replied.

"Well, those mistakes led to me. Thanks for making them. It's time to make everything right."

That was how the search for my father began. Christmas was upon us and I had to grant, not just my mother's wish, but also my wish of finding Nathaniel.

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