Wishing on Santa Claus
When I was five, my grandpa, Lolo Angel, told me just three days before Christmas that I should expect a special present from Santa Claus because I had been a very good child. I asked him, “Lo, why do I have to expect gifts from Santa? You once told me that we should never expect something in return for every good thing we do.” He smiled and replied, “Apo, you’re very mature for your age.” He was the first to tell me something I would constantly hear during my childhood.
It was my wish every Christmas to see and meet Santa. But unlike other children my age, I wanted to meet Santa, not to receive gifts, but to ride on his reindeer sleigh. I wanted it so much, but like the children who were expecting gifts, I realized it wouldn’t happen after two or three years of wishing and waiting. Still, I switched my mindset: It would probably happen, not in the way we want it, but in a different way, a special way.
“Is there really a Santa Claus, Papa?” I can still remember 8-year-old Lovely (my closest cousin who’s just a month older than me) asking her father that question after years of waiting for Santa and failing to receive anything. Tito Nestor (who died in 2011 of a liver disease) was unable to reply right away. After instilling in his daughter the idea that Santa Claus gave gifts to good children every Christmas, he could not come up with a credible excuse.
After minutes of silence, Tito Nestor looked at his daughter wordlessly. I then went to Lovely, sat beside her, and said, “You know what, there is really a Santa Claus. It’s true. He’s giving you gifts not just every Christmas but every day. Do you see those dolls and all the toys you have? Everything that your parents gave you, they all came from Santa. The food we eat every day and all that we see, it all came from Him. You know who the real Santa is? He is Papa Jesus. He’s the real Santa!”
Confused by what I said, Lovely gave me a sad face, prompting Tito Nestor to hug her tightly. Then he told me, “You’re very mature for your age. Thank you, Angelo. Eventually, Lovely will understand everything.”
At a young age, I learned to appreciate every little thing I had because I knew how it felt to have nothing. I grew up mindful of what Mama taught us: that you can’t eat three times a day if you will not work hard. She always reminded us that we need to sweat to earn, and that life isn’t easy but we have no choice but to live.
Mama’s a supermom! She worked very hard to provide for our needs starting when Papa was imprisoned. I was then only three years old and the family was living in Manila. She eventually decided to move the family to the province, to my grandparents’ place, because my siblings and I were still very young and she would need help in caring for us if she was to go to work.
Until today, now that I’m an adult, I still don’t know the reason behind Papa’s imprisonment. I have chosen to bury that sad memory. His case was dismissed when I was 11 and he followed us to the province. It remains a painful memory but it is also a reminder that we should not love our parents less for their mistakes in the past. Their love for us will never be lessened by each mistake we ourselves make and will instead be multiplied then raised to the power of infinity.
Growing up in an imperfect family taught me the importance of being content and thankful for every little thing that God provides. When I was in grade school, I used to go with my mom every weekend to help her do the laundry for some families. Aside from selling home-cooked food, Mama was also a labandera. It was never a source of shame for me because she taught us that as long as you are doing what is right, there’s no reason for you to be ashamed of what you do.
I excelled in school, and my determination to succeed for the sake of my family never wavered. My burning desire to help my family made me so eager to finish with my schooling quickly. I felt useless when I was in school; I felt that I should be out there helping my parents earn money. So when the opportunity knocked hard on my door, I grabbed it as fast as lightning.
I joined school competitions that had cash prizes at stake. And I won most of them, like essay-writing contests, quiz bowls, extemporaneous speaking/oratorical contests, press conferences—name it, I joined it, all for my family. To compete, I traveled to a number of places in the country without spending a centavo. My teachers are living proof of how I spent my childhood. It was indeed not an ordinary one.
“A wonder boy”—that’s what they called me back then. I was perfect in their eyes, and they expected me to be successful in an instant. They always told me that I was mature for my age probably because of the way I thought and my ability to do things in an extraordinary way. But they should have known that maturity is more than that. They should have known that there’s no easy way to success, that there are no shortcuts.
When my first failure came, every thing changed in the blink of an eye. From a wonder boy, I became a failure in their eyes. They quickly forgot the many times I won contests, the numerous occasions I went up the stage to receive awards and medals, those times when I put a smile on their faces. Everything positive about me was deleted from their memory, as though they were suddenly afflicted with amnesia—all because of a single mistake. They did not realize that I am not my mistake.
However, God held my hand and made me realize that we have an infinite number of second chances, from which I am not exempt. We have all the second chances we want; we just need to give ourselves that chance.
I look back at my childhood when my every Christmas wish was to have a ride with Santa Claus on his reindeer sleigh. I realize that no one has ever asked me why I kept wishing on it. The truth is, since the day I learned about Santa Claus, I have believed that he is Jesus hiding in the image of the jolly old fellow. I want to talk to him face to face because I have tons of questions that no Google search can answer. I also want to thank him for everything that I see and touch, for making me feel that life is never worth giving up on, for showing me that there is always meaning in the life we live.
It’s Christmas again. And I’m still holding tight to my ultimate wish in the past 18 years. As I told my cousin Lovely when we were still kids, our wish may not happen the way we expect it, but it will come true in a very special way.
I have high hopes.
Angelo Bart V. Nabalse, 23, says he stopped writing for a while but is back at it after being inspired by Young Blood, of which he is “a huge fan.” He is a member of Gaba-an Youth Lead, a “youth facilitating team” in Dumaguete, and is also connected with a company in Cebu.
