Christmas
was always a special time in my family with exciting outings organized by my
mom who enjoyed it just as much as us kids did.
One year, when I was nine, my Grandpa suggested we should go to Toronto
to see the famous Santa Claus parade.
Grandpa was a shop foreman for the CNR and he organized the days outing
for us. I was so excited! The prospects of going on the train to Toronto,
seeing the parade and visiting Santa was more than I’d ever dreamed of! The
morning of our adventure I woke up feeling a bit nauseous, but I didn’t let on.
Mom seemed to notice and put her hand on my forehead to see if I had a fever,
but I ignored her. I dressed in my
pleated plaid skirt and sweater, pulled on my long ribbed brown stockings and
put on the green wool coat trimmed with the Persian lamb collar that Mom had
made from one of her own coats which had always been my favourite and my
knitted cap and mitts. When I was putting on my galoshes
I felt cramps in my stomach and stayed bent over for awhile. Mom questioned me,
but again I shrugged it off and said I was just fine.
We
set off for the train: Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, my cousin Gracie, my little
sister and me. It was about a two hour
trip to Toronto from where we lived and as we travelled through the snowy
countryside I began to feel even sicker than when I’d first got up that
morning. By the time we arrived at
Toronto I was burning up with a fever and hardly felt like moving. Mom gave me
something for my stomach ache and worried over me. But I insisted I was alright to go to the
parade. To tell the truth, I was so sick that I can’t even remember what we
saw, no matter how exciting it was. All
I wanted to do was go somewhere warm and lie down. But I didn’t say anything
because, being the determined child that I always was, I wanted to make sure I
got to see Santa.
After
the parade we went to the big Eatons department store and up to Toyland where
Santa had his throne and was greeting children.
I didn’t even feel like looking at the toys, not even the paper doll
books which usually interested me more than dolls or anything else. By the time it was my turn to sit on Santa’s
lap I was feeling so sick I had a hard time even managing a weak smile. Santa talked to me and asked me questions but
I could barely speak. Worst of all, I
thought that if I didn’t get off his knee I was going to puke all over him.
When I look at the photo they took of me on Santa’s knee that day, I see a pale-faced child looking absolutely
miserable. It was the worst Christmas
excursion I could ever remember. And I
sure hope Santa didn’t catch my germs!
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