Toyland Exit

This December 25th I will have 82 Christmases under my cap. I'll admit that I don't remember each and every one, but I recall 1952.

Recently, I was talking to an old friend from childhood. She asked me at what age we stopped believing in Santa. Well, I couldn't speak for her, but I knew exactly how old I was when I crossed the exit border of Toyland.

I was 11 years old and likely the naivest doofus in the Philadelphia section of Mayfair where I grew up.

It was a couple of weeks before Christmas. I had walked down the street to my friend's house to see if she wanted to come out to play. Her mom who was like a second mother to me, answered the door almost immediately. She was wearing her coat, and her cheeks were rosy-red from the cold. I could see bags on the floor in the living room. She had just returned from a shopping trip to Frankford Avenue.

"Janey isn't home, Joanne." Wait until you see what I got her." After promising not to tell, I was still standing on the porch as Mrs. Driscoll held the door open with her foot while reaching down into one of the bags. She smiled broadly when she showed me the requested gift on most every girls' list that year...a Toni Doll! Toni came with her own curlers and home permanent wave kit. The soon-to-be Toni Driscoll was a blonde.

My eyes must have given me away as I thought to myself, but isn't Santa supposed to bring that kind of gift? Presents of underwear and pajamas came from parents.

With what appeared to me a look of jolted horror on her face, Mrs. Driscoll said, "You still

believe!"

We both remained speechless as Mrs. Driscoll seemed to be studying me while clutching Toni's colorful box; hair rollers, and permanent wave lotion included, close to her chest.

This seemed like a good time to say that I thought I heard my mother calling and to make my exit from the front porch, down the steps, back to my house to ponder the situation at hand.

As Christmas drew closer I became circumspect in dealing with the reality of Santas's existence. I was still hesitant to jump the gun by making any declaration of non-belief.

I thought of the words to the song, Toyland that cautioned, "once you cross its borders, you may never return again." NEVER!..Permanently!..For all time!

I was a kid who loved to daydream. I pictured myself shoulders squared, chin up, and for some reason, dressed in my parochial school uniform bravely crossing the Toyland border.

I was marching alone through a fence of brightly colored candy canes and giant red and green glistening lollypops, taking a theatrical final step onto a barren landscape of disbelief. Somber Wooden Soldiers guarding against any move on my part of turning back.

This was going to be a pretty scary decision. Maybe, I should give it one more year. After all, I'd gotten this far, and Christmas was just around the corner.

I spent time mulling over the idea that if my parents thought Santa was still in the picture, I stood a better chance of receiving the gifts that I'd asked for. I had enough underwear. I really wanted white shoe skates that came in their own carrying case.

I was about to learn that picking up one end of the stick meant picking up the other.

Next door to us lived Mrs. Kerrigan, an elderly gray haired lady and her "maiden" daughter, as my mother referred to Ms. Jesse.

Mrs. Kerrigan had a grandson who was 14 years old. His name was Sam. I met Sam when he came to visit during the summer. I developed a secret crush on Sam. I thought that he had the most gorgeous blue eyes that I'd ever seen.

Christmas Eve had finally arrived. My younger sister, Ronnie and I had our long hair freshly washed and set in metal rollers. Even lying on a soft pillow, the hard rubber closures of these torture devices pressed into our heads. In order to hold the rollers in place during an uncomfortable sleep, we wore the unattractive elastic banned beret style hats that were tossed aside after being worn in St. Bernard's May Procession.

Ronnie and I both had our own rooms, but on this particular Christmas Eve we decided to team up in my bed listening to the radio broadcast tracking Santa's location while anticipating his sleigh's arrival over the roof tops of Philly.

We could hear people coming in our front door and the excitement of Christmas Eve was bouncing off the wall of every room in our house and every house on our block. Neighbors and relatives stopped by to say Merry Christmas while Ronnie and I kept radio vigil upstairs in the back bedroom.

All of a sudden, I thought I heard sleigh bells. "Turn down the radio, Ronnie." "I hear something." Sure enough, there were footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall towards my room. Then a somewhat under practiced attempt at a "Ho-Ho-Ho." There was some whispering and suddenly into the room appeared Santa Claus! He was shaking a string of bells on a strap, followed by another series of three 'Ho-Ho-Ho's." Behind him, from my bed, I noticed some neighbors' faces straining to see in the room hoping to observe the delighted expressions that I suppose Ronnie and I were expected to have.

Santa reached into his pocket and took out two candy canes. When I reached for mine I caught a glimpse of the jolly elf's rouged cheeks and his familiar blue eyes...just like Sam Kerrigan's!

After everyone was satisfied that Ronnie and I had been treated to a childhood memory, never to be forgotten, they all went back downstairs; Santa ringing his bells, his Ho-Ho-Ho's now indicating the confidence of someone who had just pulled off the most successful Christmas Eve charade in all of Montague Street history.

Sam Kerrigan!! Why was he allowed to be up late and out making the rounds with the adults on Christmas Eve? Why was he handing out candy canes in my bedroom?

Sugar plums were replaced by visions of Sam laughing his sweaty powdered wig off at me still believing in Santa. He had seen me in my worn-out May Procession hat! Maybe he thought it was a night cap that I wore every night. What if he spilled the beans to boys that he knew in the neighborhood? I was mortified.

Seems the Santa suit was supposed to be for Sam's dad, but it was too small. Ronnie and I were visited by a Santa reject.

The Christmas Eve of 1952 was a turning point for me. I decided, come next year, I'd be taking a flying leap across the Toyland border, never to return again...and by doing so, eliminating any future Santa visits to my bedroom by Sam Kerrigan or anyone else.

On that Christmas Eve, I lost my crush on Sam. However, on Christmas morning, after thanking my parents for their gift of my new "days of the week" underwear, I excitedly opened the beautifully wrapped gift with the tag that read- To: Joanne From: Santa.

White shoe skates in a carrying case bearing the initial J.

Til next week.

Ja