1952

Thumbing through Mike's photographs, I found one, only one, picture of Santa Clause.  As it happened, it was taken the same year of my own only Santa shot.

As we are reconstructing our past years and telling each other about the years before we knew each other, we often discover that we were swirling in the same places and times, almost meeting a couple of times.

For example, I was in Memphis visiting cousins in 1962, and my older cousin took us to a record store.  Mike was a semi-permanent customer in that same record store that summer. My parents lived in Memphis the year he was born--though his family hadn't yet moved there.  Close calls, we say.  Close but no cigar.

And here we are, in adjoining states, in 1952, sitting in the laps of two different Santas, two moments in time preserved by photography, as moments are.  From a single photograph, we can weave all kinds of stories.

Mike and Santa, 1952

Linda and Santa 1952

Notice that my little-sweetheart-before-I-knew-him was quite jovial, as he still is, looking Mr. Clause right in the eye.  Santa, I'm guessing had just asked Mike what he'd like for Christmas and Mike was telling him about some cars he had his eyes on.  By the look in his jolly face, I'm guessing Mike's Santa was the real McCoy, mine a stand-in.

Just after this picture was snapped, Little Mikey was asked if he would be a good boy.  "I don't want anything quite that much!" Mike said.

I was less happy with my encounter.  My Santa was spookier, with his hand on my knee, and I didn't like him one bit. I see Elena in my face--the exact expression she wore last week when we took her to her first gymnastics class and she refused to play.

What did I want for Christmas?  I wanted a doll and some wheels, I imagine.  But mostly I wanted to hop out of his lap and leave that North Pole outpost and get on home.