Father Christmas by Jackie Hawkeswood
Jackie is semi-retired and helps to bring order to decades of collected family information.
At a family gathering we were discussing the end of year school concerts put on by the pupils at the local hall. There was always a huge pine tree brought in (from a farm) and decorated for Christmas wit crepe paper streamers, glass baubles and balloons from under which Santa Claus dispensed his largesse to all the children after the show.
My sister leaned over and said to me, “You realise that Santa was really Dad, don’t you?”
I couldn’t believe it. How could I not have recognized our own father under the red hat and snowy white beard? Why hadn’t anyone ever told me before.
I was shocked.
I was dismayed.
I was fifty-eight.
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