Reflections from Ms. Santa and Christmas 2016

Reading at a school in 2015

For many years now, I have worn a Christmas Suit to visit daycares and elementary schools filled with "wee ones" as Ms. Santa. When my son became a Marine nearly eight years ago, my visited expanded to military families and the veteran communities. My two months as Ms. Santa schedule expanded to several months a year to accommodate families who have love ones deployed. I learned that many families delayed Christmas celebrations until dad, mom, sister or brother was back home safely. Christmas was when they returned and not only in December. I have been called often to meet a member at the airport with the family to say welcome home and "Merry Christmas."

Members of the Air Force dinning with me at Monell's.

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Precious #AO

My Ms. Santa's duties are pretty simple; bring love and joy. Love and joy have included toys, items needed and wanted, and, most importantly, ears that hear and listen. Being in character is not an act to me, I take my role seriously. Over the years, I have heard requests from children and the young at heart that have made me roar with laughter. I have shared special moments like handing first time grandparents their "new gift" wrapped in a Christmas blanket. I will always cherish witnessing the look on their faces. Every member of the military I have welcomed home, face is chiseled into my memory and every child who only wanted their dad or mom home from battle names are written on my heart. Those requests remind of the time when all I wanted for Christmas was my Marine home. Photo after photo, conversation after conversation, preps me for the wonder and awe of the New Year to come.

Me and my hero, my son.

With each year, I have learned to expect the unexpected and to be prepared to bring comfort to hurting children and families. In 2008, the economic crises and hardship heaped on families were etched in the faces of children. Instead of asking for the new hot toy of the year, little ones remarked about who was jobless in the family. Many children did not ask for a toy but wanted a toy for their younger sibling. My heart ached as I heard one story after another from wee ones about the financial woes of the adults in their lives.

Grace Eaton Child Care in 2009

 In 2012, the tragedy of Sandy Hook landed in Ms. Santa's lap. A deranged gunman's actions had shaken the country to its core when he slaughted babies at an elementary school. Five and six year olds asked for bullet proof vests and back packs. A few wanted the vests for their dolls and action figures!  I remember several asking me to teach them how to fight a bad guy.  As I hugged each one to reassure them that they were loved and everything would be okay, I fought for control of my emotions. I gave out more hugs than toys the final days before Christmas that year.

Bullet proof vests for children.

This year, the tone and tenor of 2016 made its way to my ears and pierced my heart. In November, dolls in pantsuits were hot items. As a matter of fact,  many little girls wanted pantsuits not only for themselves, but for moms and grandmas. Baseball caps were in high demand as much as trucks by the boys. As much as those requests made me smile knowingly, there were some requests that made me winch with pain. A little Latina angel confided in me that she did not want her Nana to be taken away from her. When I asked where was Nana going, she said, "I do not know but every one is saying on TV she has to go back."  A hug was all I could muster in reply as I looked into her big brown eyes filled with worry. Children should not be worrying about life at five!

One encounter with a child left me bewildered and wondering what will 2017 bring. As I was winding down school parties, I visited a school at the request of a teacher I have known for years. It was my first visit to her school. I brought my winning bag of age appropriate goodies that were engaging; my Santas from around world that I have collected over the years along with my favorite Christmas books that I love to read that are as unique as my Santas. When I entered the room, parents and grandparents were in tow to help celebrate the end of the semester and the start of the holiday break. As I set up my Santas, the children gathered around me with "oohs" and "aahs" that I have come to expect. Several wee ones stared at me with bright smiles that are given to Santas worldwide. As I counted enough ornaments to give away to the fast growing crowd around me, I noticed a family in the back with a child who was not sitting with the others around me. After I sat in the big chair after the teacher introduced me as Ms. Santa, I talked about my Santas from various countries and read several Christmas stories. After reading to the class, I asked about their holiday celebrations that included Hanukkah, Christmas, and Kwanzaa ventures. I gave out Christmas cards for the children to sign for those who were less fortunate. While some students were signing cards, others stood in line to have their picture taken with me.

Ms. Santa picture by Martin O'Connor

 At the exact same time, the child who stayed in back with her family, inched her way towards me. Once she stood near my chair, she looked back over her shoulder at her family and then turned back to me and blurted out loudly, "You are not Santa Claus. You are Black. Santa Claus is White like my Grandpa!" She then turned back to her family who seemed to beam with prided at her bold declaration. But the other children gasped with shock. A hush hit the room. As the classroom became eerily quite, the howls of laughter from the family were deafening. Their back slaps made me physically ill as I watched babies watching their behavior. As their laughter calmed down, the room remained quite as all eyes turned back to me including the teacher and the other adults in the room. With all the fiber in my body, I looked at the child standing in front of me and reached for a Santa that may have resembled her Grandpa. With a smile, I said, "Your grandpa is very handsome if he looks like this Santa." I then handed her a beautiful White angel and shared about my friend who gave it to me. I said, "Her granddaughter looks like you. How old are you?" The more I engaged the child, the more the child talked about her beloved Grandpa to the dismay of her family.  When she handed me the angel back, I said,  "Please keep it, angles are very special. They protect us from bad things and are reminders to be kind to others."

Villa Place Santa

 After regrouping, I began asking the other children if they saw a Santa that looked like their grandfather or grandpa. To their delight, and the relief of the teacher, the children turned their attention to Granddads, Grandpas, and Paw Paws who looked like Santa. The outburst from the back of the room seemed like a foul mist that dissipated quickly once we started discussing all things Christmas while photos were being snapped left and right. Several children gave me  extra big hugs as if they were comforting me and a few parents whispered, 'I am so sorry' after they took their child's picture. I have never had an encounter like that with a child or adults as Ms. Santa and I was determined to keep my focus on my duties; to bring love and joy.

 As the family who had encourage their child to remind me of how Santa suppose to look was leaving, their wee one waved bye with her new Angel clutched firmly in her hand. I waved back and blew a kiss. My wave and kiss must were doused with angel dust from heaven because suddenly the child ran over to me and gave me the biggest hug ever. That hug brought tears to my eyes as I heard her say boldly, "Have a Merry Christmas Mrs. Claus."As I hugged her back, my eyes locked with her mother. Look at God, I mused to myself.

Later, on my way home, the words of my grandfather, a Civil Rights foot solider from Mississippi, flooded my thoughts, "Children are taught to hate. God does not teach us to hate anyone." I believe the wounds from 2016 will heal but the scars will be visible for sometime. My prayer is for adults to learn and believe words matter. What we say to and about about each other can affect generations to come. I learned from this year, more so than any other year, children not only hear our words but watch our actions and reactions intensively.

Merry Christmas

When A Grandmother Calls

My maternal grandparents helped shape my thoughts, values, and paved paths for me even when I was not aware of them doing so. They gave me the audacity to dream and prepared me to take giant leaps in life by being loving and supportive. Now that I am a grandparent, I want 'Grand Prince' to have that same confidence to dream big and know he is loved. Being a grandparent has taught me a love that I would have never known existed and helps me appreciate the relationship I have had with my grandparents all my life. The love of a grandparent is like no other.

Being a card carrying member of the grandparents' club now, I know from first hand experience, when a grandmother is deeply involved in a child's life, the sky is the limit. The child is going to soar because a grandmother can will it to be. Or at the very least, try to pull the sky closer for her grandchild to reach it. Do not believe a grandmother  would not grab a corner of the galaxy to make things happen? Keep reading.

I received an urgent call from a dear friend who has a grandchild who has sickle cell. She said in a very determined voice, "I need you to get the word out about the petition on White House.Gov to declare sickle cell a national priority. We must let others know more about sickle cell disease. We can not let any more funding be cut from research. Nor can we let any more clinics be closed. This is very important!" In the next breath, she reminded of the power of a grandmother's love. "You know my grand-baby has sickle cell. This is not an issue or cause, it is my grand-baby's life we are talking about."

My friend, a grandmother of a young free spirit with sickle cell, was prepared to organize a ride to moon if that was what it was going to take to get enough signatures to get the attention of the President. On the day of the call, the petition had around 22,000 signatures. The petition needed 100,000 and the deadline was looming a few days away. With sickle cell affecting 90,000 Americans and 3 million individuals are trait carriers of the sickle cell disease, this petition was important to many families.

Sickle Cell Disease is a group of inherited red blood cell disorders. Normal red blood cells are round like doughnuts, and they move through small blood tubes in the body to deliver oxygen. Sickle red blood cells become hard, sticky and shaped like sickles used to cut wheat. When these hard and pointed red cells go through the small blood tube, they clog the flow and break apart. This can cause pain, damage and a low blood count, or anemia.

Sickle Cell Disease is a major public health concern causing critical healthcare impacts in the nation. After talking through a strategic grass roots plan with my friend, I promised her that I would share her message and the information she had sent me with others. Within a few hours of us working our Rolodex, emails, and social media accounts, there was a noticeable increase in the numbers. Two days later, every Bam Mom, Big Mom, Gramma, Grammy, Grams, Grandma, Grandmama, Grandmother, Grandma, Grannie, Ma, Maw, Memaw, Mom-mo, Nanas, and one Grand Diva were contacted to sign the online petition. If they were not internet savvy, we suggested getting a grandchild to walk them through the process.

Alaira with her mother and grandmother.

 

Two days before the deadline and three days after the call, the Sickle Cell Disease Petition to the White House had met the required numbers and then some. It is amazing what happens when a community comes together for the greater good and the effectiveness of social media. It is even more amazing to see the love of a grandmother in action. It is a beautiful site to behold.

Thank you for signing the petition!

The little angel above thanks you as well as her grandmother (and the rest of the family) who loves her dearly!

My Grandmother and I

I visit my grandmother as often as I can. I have written about her in many blog posts, my news column, and I have spoken about her on my radio show. I can talk endlessly about my grandmother. My grandmother has even gotten a shout out on social media.

Each visit home brings new revelations about my grandmother’s life. She is not perfect but she is my beloved. Each visit gives more insight into who I am and my personality, the many lives my grandmother has impacted, the power of love, and the grace of God. Each visit leaves me humbled and grateful for the smaller things in life.

My holiday visit was my most recent trip. I did not tell my grandmother when I was coming, only that I was coming. I have learned that giving a specific date leads to disappointments for both of us. My schedule is that of a mad woman and no matter how I try to be specific about dates or times, life interrupts. But when I say I am coming, she knows, rain or shine, snow or ice, I am going to make my way to Mississippi.

For Christmas 2012, I made it hours shy of Christmas Day. But I came in full Ms. Santa’s gear. I sneaked into town and drove straight to the nursing home where she resides. After getting buzzed in, I winked at the nurses who were all smiles (and probably all kinfolks in one way or another) when they saw me. I knew she would be up watching TV. I put down my bags of goodies for her and the other residents of the home and I walked up behind her.

In her ear, I whispered, “What’s up chic?” Her tears started flowing almost immediately as she turned to look up at me. Upon hearing my voice, my grandmother said, “My baby is home. Yes, my baby is home.” My tears started too. We carry own like this every time we see each other.

Surprise!

There is never a shortage of tears when we greet each other. We cry for a while and then start laughing and then start crying some more. She boldly stated after gathering her wits, “I knew you were coming.” Hugging her for what seemed an eternity, I said, “Mother you look so good!”

After giving me a head to toe inspection, she said, “You look good, too.” She then touched my Santa suit and the pearls she gave me years ago and started talking nonstop. Soon our roles of grandmother and granddaughter, flesh of her flesh, meshed into two hens without a care in the world. Time seemed to stand still as we picked up where we left off. We seemed joined at the hip in thought and speech. I had to stop our conversation because I realized everyone was watching us.

I gathered her things and off to her room we rolled to finish our conversation. For the rest of the day, we caught up on all things in my little home town, and I shared about life in Nashville. The more we talked, the louder we laughed, and the more folks came to her door to make sure we were okay.

My grandmother reading a copy of Mocha Market

At some point, I had to pull myself away. My grandmother was in good spirits, and it showed. I finally managed to make my way to Stringer Drive to my parents’ home.


Once there, I unpacked and exchanged gifts with my mom and dad. My grandmother’s well-being was on everyone’s mind. I encouraged them by telling them how good my grandmother looked; the hard work of the family was obvious. My evening was spent catching up on the holistic welfare of my grandmother.

Later, I got busy around my mom’s cooking and planning a New Year Eve’s bash for my grandmother and the other residents of the nursing home. My head was racing with ideas. I brought party items from Nashville, but I still needed to go to town (Natchez, MS) to get a few more items. Immediately I thought about Nashville and for a brief moment, I wanted to be Jasmine with a magic carpet. The next day, I managed to make it to Natchez, shop for items, and get back to Fayette in less than two hours. Whew!

On New Year’s Eve, my grandmother and I had the grandest time. There were many at the party, but we were having our own party. Decked out in her 2013 top hat and jewelry, she laughed and blew her horns. She wore “sparkly” nails that told you she was in a festive move. The dining hall was beautifully decorated. We popped the bubbly, sparkling grape juice, and the staffed toasted every good deed EVER done! Most laughed like no tomorrow while one of the residents, Slater, danced the time away! I soaked up the sight of my grandmother having so much fun.

Slater Dancing like it is 1999!

As usual, the time with my grandmother came to an end much too quickly. I dreaded driving back to Tennessee. Leaving is always the hardest part of my trips home. My carload becomes lighter but my heart gets heavier each time. On my way back to Nashville, I saw a billboard that read “Visit Vicksburg”. I whispered quietly, “Thank you God for my grandmother.”

Seeing the billboard reminded me of New Year’s Eve 2011 at Vicksburg’s Mercy Hospital. My grandmother was hospitalized after being very ill for weeks. In 2011, I spent the holidays with my grandmother in the hospital. We laughed but not nearly as much. We cried, too, but my tears that year were of sadness from watching her struggle to live. I prayed daily that her body would be without the drips, needles, nurses, doctors, and pills for a pill. And this Christmas 2012, she was doing just fine.

New Year's Eve 2011

Christmas Day 2011

New Year's Eve 2012

New Year's Eve 2012

Look at God. What a difference a year makes. God answers prayers. My grandmother and I were toasting to bring in 2012 with Ensure and were popping Champagne and dancing to bring in 2013. Did I mention we laughed a lot?

Oh my, I serve a mighty good God!