Sense Of Wonder Or Gullibility? You Decide!

Children just don't seem as gullible as they used to be and I find that sad.  I've made up a personal tooth fairy named Amber Genevieve for Rachel, but other than that she doesn't seem to buy fictional characters the way I did when I was a child.   And that makes me sad, because she won't have some of the memories that I do of my sense of wonder being stimulated.

I remember when I was very young, still living in Chicago, which would mean I was younger than six, my father pointed to the sky over a dry cleaners and swore he saw Santa's sleigh.  I recall squinting high into the sky and after a scan, I swore he was right.  It was faint, but it sure looked like a faint shadow of Santa and his sleigh.

I have another Chicago memory.  It was my birthday.   We were at a restaurant that we went to frequently.   I recall black rocks with a waterfall against one wall and the overhead lights were arranged to look like stars.  The staff brought out my birthday cake. I made a wish and leaned in toward the candles.   As I blew, all the overnight lights went out.  Of course, my dad arranged that, but young David was convinced it was all him.

Eventually, our family was transferred to Dallas, Texas.  Sears Roebuck needed dad as merchandise manager of its Southwestern Territory.   Santa Claus was no longer in the picture, other than when the Sears Wish Book arrived.  My parents wanted to help forge our Jewish identities.  So when Hanukkah rolled around each year, dad decided to summon some competition for Jolly Ole St. Nick.   After we'd say our prayers and light the candles, dad would send us on a search through the house with "See if the Hanukkah man brought you anything!" 

So my sister and I would race through the house and be amazed that this mysterious "Hanukkah man" managed to creep in stealthily and leave gifts on our beds or on the front porch under the mailbox right outside the window.   We never saw him or heard him, but somehow he would creep in undetected and leave gifts.   This generic "Hanukkah man", this Jewish bar code, if you will, was a source of wonder for years.

We would never leave him notes, like we did for the Easter Bunny (we used to paint Paas Eggs at Easter, though obviously, we didn't attend church for Easter.   But sometimes we'd get chocolate eggs anyway.)  We would leave a carrot for the Easter Bunny, until we became suspicious when the carrot wound up back in the refrigerator and the Easter Bunny's thank you note looked suspiciously like my father trying to write lefthanded.

There was another birthday where dad arranged for a customized front page of the Dallas Times-Herald.   The headline read "David Turns 10 Today" and the subhead read "Patty Eagerly Awaits Opening of Presents."   There wasn't an article that went with it and as I recall there was a picture of some mine disaster next to it from the real front page, but it was pretty darn cool.

There is one more memory that makes me smile and ruefully shake my head to this day.   One morning, I want to say it was a Sunday, my sister and I were making a lot of noise as we played.  My mom and dad were likely trying to grab some extra sleep, although it was difficult because the kids were making so much noise.

At some point, the phone rang.  To this day, I have no idea who it was.   It wasn't long until we heard dad's booming voice through the closed door to his bedroom.  "David, Patty, that was the next door neighbors.  You two are making so much noise, they called to complain."

My sister and I looked at each other and shrank with embarrassment.  My parents went back to sleep.   I don't think we were ever quieter.