Born on Christmas Day: Christmas Magic from Santa's House at the Shopping Mall

When Natasha Bell was born, she might as well have come out of her mother’s womb with jingle bells. 

“Born on Christmas Day! My baby is born on Christmas Day!” her mother said, wrapping her in a Christmas stocking.

“You share your birthday with King Jesus,” she said to her daughter, placing a Santa hat on her daughter’s head. “This means that you’re a princess, and you’ll be able to do good everywhere and change the whole world!”

Of course, Natasha’s mother might have overestimated her daughter’s ability, but Natasha never realized that. By the time Natasha was age 10, she thought she ruled the world. Even if she wasn’t a real princess, it didn’t stop her.

“I was born on Christmas Day! I’m a princess!” she said to friends and strangers. “Let me help you with that . . .”

Everywhere she went, she spread love and kindness to people with all kinds of serious problems. 

“The world is full of problems,” Natasha said, “but no problem is too big for a king, and I’m a princess.”

When someone would tell her that she wasn’t a princess, she reminded the person of her Christmas birthday.

“Didn’t you know that I was born on Christmas? This changes everything! I share my birthday with the King,” she said. “No matter what, I can change anything for the better. What problem do you have? How can I help you?”

“Why do you think that you can help me? Why are you acting like such a know-it-all?” random people said to her.

“Ignore the naysayers!” Mrs. Bell said, smiling at her daughter’s enthusiasm and encouraging Natasha toward greatness. 

At Christmastime, Natasha visited the shopping malls to meet the Santa Clauses in the displays. A line of children would start from Santa’s House and extend through the middle of the mall for several city blocks. The children wanted to sit on Santa’s knee, tell him how “nice” they had been that year, and ask for Christmas gifts. Then they posed for the annual photo on Santa’s lap that went in the family Christmas card and hung on the refrigerator.

“Since I was born on Christmas, I should stand at the front of the line with you,” Natasha said to the mall Santas. “In case you miss a request, I can write down the children’s needs and make sure that they get fulfilled.” 

“My manager is going to get angry,” one Santa Claus said, scratching his beard. “Stand where she can’t see you!”

When the manager came by, Natasha ran behind the Santa’s chair and hid until the stodgy woman in high heels passed. One afternoon, Natasha’s nifty jingle bell necklace jangled as she ran to hide, and the manager found her out.

“Little girl! What are you doing?” the shopping mall manager said, pulling Natasha’s ear. “Get at the end of the line.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Natasha said, moseying herself to the very end of the line until the manager went home for the day. Then Natasha marched right back to the front of the Santa Claus display line with her clipboard and pen.

“Who cares what my manager told you!” the mall Santa said. “Natasha, you can help me make my daily photo quota.”

For days, Natasha gave the best advice she could on everything from how to pick a puppy to where to get a bargain. “Merry Christmas!” she said, insisting on being in the photos with the Santa and the unruly children.

Several of the parents forced screaming kids to sit on the Santa’s lap, and Natasha had to wipe tears and dry noses. “Smile!” she said, as the light bulbs flashed over and over, blinding her eyes. “I’m a princess born on Christmas!”

On Christmas Eve Day, a little boy with a baseball cap sat on the Santa’s lap, crying because he didn’t have a baby sister. 

“Mom said that she can’t have another baby, and I want a sister, and I don’t know why I can’t have one,” the child said.

“I only do this for the money,” the Santa said. “I can’t promise anything. I must have heard 30,000 kids by now!”

“Are you really Santa?” the little boy said. “If you were real, you would be able to give me anything that I asked for!”

“I feel real,” the Santa said, shifting in his red, mall throne. “I’ve been kicked in the shin so many times today . . .”

“Could you please tell my son to stop sucking his thumb?” the little boy’s mother whispered in Santa’s ear. 

“Lady, like many mall Santas, I’m Jewish, and I celebrate Hanukkah, but I’m doing the best I can with the kids in the mall. The holidays are all about goodwill. Try to have some goodwill,” the fairytale Santa said. “If you don’t stop all the commotion, I’m bound to get fired and replaced with some other well-meaning old guy in a costume.”

“That girl who thinks she’s the Christmas princess is forbidden in this line!” the manager said, marching at Mr. Claus.

“Don’t worry, I was born on Christmas Day,” Natasha said, hiding from the looming mall manager behind Santa’s chair as the woman slipped him his work schedule for next week. “I’ll be your sister. I’m a princess!” Natasha whispered.

“I’d like to have a sister born on Christmas who’s a princess,” the little boy said as the manager eyed him up and down.

“Oh, please, I have toys to sell and better things to do than listen to this nonsense,” the manager said, leaving in a huff.

“If you’re my brother, then you’re a prince,” Natasha said once the manager left. “Anyone who is my sister or brother would also be a princess or a prince. We can change the world together! My mom told me, so it has to be true.”

Every year after that, despite the mall managers, Natasha collected new sisters and brothers in the Santa Claus lines until she had a kingdom—A kingdom of princesses and princes who all were related to the King, and that made all the difference in the world. Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!

 

Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters

https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/born-on-christmas-day-spoken-word-narrated-by-jen-waters

The Man Downstairs: The Story of Coral Graf and Her Missing Coins

Coral loved her porcelain pink piggy bank named Puddles with its curlicue tail. She used it to hold the coins from The Man Upstairs when the pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, half dollars, and dollar coins overflowed from the tin can beneath the heating vent in her apartment. 

As she looked out the window of her red brick apartment building, she remembered how she promised The Man Upstairs that she would never hoard the coins for herself. Her parents bought the pig for her at the neighborhood thrift store, so she could save the coins until she could figure out how to use them for good in the world. Then, one day, she realized that Puddles had disappeared. It was like there was a bank robbery with a mystery burglar.

“Puddles is missing!” said nine-year-old Coral Graf to her father as he ate pastrami on rye for lunch from his own deli.

Even her usual collection of coins that came from The Man Upstairs through the ceiling’s heating vent into the tin can had vanished. The tin that she had set out for the collection underneath the vent was emptied and turned on its side. She considered that she should call the police and ask them to investigate.

“There must be a thief in the building stealing my coins,” she said, as she scrunched her eyebrows together. “I want Puddles back!”

Although she suspected her parents for a few moments, she knew her parents wouldn’t take the coins. The last time they took any money from her coin collection for themselves, they promised never to do it again. Since her mother lectured her that fibbing was bad behavior, Coral believed that her parents would most likely keep their word. 

“It was probably the neighbor downstairs. He’s stingy,” Mr. Graf said, as he chomped away on his sandwich. “I never really liked him. He always keeps to himself as though he is hiding something. You never see him or his kids.”

“The Man Downstairs?” Coral asked. “Do you think he knows The Man Upstairs has been giving me coins?”

“He probably does because you’ve been giving the coins away almost every day, and everyone knows it,” Mr. Graf said. He savored a potato knish with mashed potato and caramelized onions. “He might be angry that you never gave him any money.”

Coral could not believe that people could be so mean. The money that The Man Upstairs had given her was supposed to be used to do good, and some nasty person had to steal it because they were jealous. At least, the person could go steal from someone who had a lot more money than Coral ever had. Why would someone want to steal from her?

“At night, our downstairs neighbor could have stuck his hand through the floor vent and stolen your piggy bank and the coins from the tin can. There’s nobody else who could have taken the coins,” Mr. Graf said. “The man who lives next door can’t put his hand through the wall.”

“I’m calling Mom,” Coral said, as she dialed her mother, a telephone switchboard operator at the Empire State Building. “She’ll know what to do.”

As the phone rang in Coral’s ear, she grew more and more anxious at the thought of her stolen coins. She had promised The Man Upstairs to give his pennies away for the common good; now they were stolen. 

“Mom, yes I know you’re at work, but Dad thinks The Man Downstairs stole my coins,” Coral said. “Can you call him and ask him to give them back? I don’t want to ask him. What if he’s mean to me?” 

“Honey, if you’re really that worried, then you need to call the police,” Mrs. Graf said. “I have to go back to work. I’m hanging up for now.”

Knots turned in Coral’s stomach at the thought of calling the police, but she was willing to give it a try. She dialed the number, and her heartbeat raced.

 “911, what’s your emergency?” the operator said in a harsh tone. 

“The Man Downstairs stole my piggy bank and coins from The Man Upstairs, and I want them back,” Coral said, as she teared up. “Can you please help me?”

Coral heard a click on the other end of the phone and dead air. 

“Hello?” Coral said. “Is anyone there? This really is an emergency.”

Then, Coral hung up the phone with a sigh and realized that she would have to confront The Man Downstairs herself, even if the police would not come to her defense.

“I’m going to talk with The Man Downstairs. If I don’t come back, please come save me,” Coral said to her dad. She grabbed her tin can and headed toward the door.

“Oh, you’re always so dramatic,” her dad said, as he finished his cheese blintz. “Just get the pennies and tell him not to rob from The Man Upstairs again.”

Coral tiptoed down the flight of stairs with her tin can. She clenched tight to the railing and held her breath. When she reached the apartment door of The Man Downstairs, she knocked once and stepped back. 

“Give me Puddles, my porcelain pink piggy bank, and the rest of my coins! And give them back now!” Coral said. She sounded more like an adult than a child. 

Slowly, the door cracked open, and an ugly hand placed Puddles in the hallway and slammed the door shut. Coral picked him up, only to find that he was empty. She shook him and didn’t hear one clanking of a coin. 

“What happened to my coin collection?” Coral called to The Man Downstairs through the door. “You stole my savings!”

“I used the money to get food for my kids!” The Man Downstairs called through the door. “I couldn’t let them go hungry.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Coral said. She felt so guilty for jumping to conclusions about her neighbor. “I’ve been skipping your door when I gave out my coins, and you needed them the most. I’m so sorry! Please forgive me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” The Man Downstairs moaned.

“I’m so glad that I could help you,” Coral said. “I promise to stop at your door from now on when I give out coins, but you have to promise to never steal Puddles again.” 

“Fine, I promise never to steal the piggy bank again,” The Man Downstairs called. “See you later, kid.”

Coral walked back up the stairs with Puddles and her empty tin can. She felt like her coins had caused a miracle where she least expected it. She sat the tin can beneath the heating vent and waited for the next batch of coins to fall from the ceiling. 

The next morning, Coral filled Puddles with coins from the overflowing tin can. Before she headed outside to the streets of New York City with her mother, she stopped by the apartment of The Man Downstairs and slid all the dollar coins from her collection beneath his door. She knew that every small coin that she gave away would make a big difference in the world.

 

Copyright 2015 Jennifer Waters 

Sequel to "The Man Upstairs: The Story of Coral Graf and Coins from a Tin Can" (1/3/15).

Dedicated to my grandmother, Augusta Renner Graf Waters.

A Tethered Balloon: It's Everybody's Birthday!

A tethered red balloon bounced on the back of a Pennsylvania porch. Tied to the porch, it could not fly freely, soaring to the sky. It watched the airplanes and the birds zooming through the heavens, wondering what it felt like to reach new heights. Even umbrellas soared higher than the balloon. 

A few days later, Carolina, the little girl in the home, had her seventh birthday. When it came time for chocolate cake on the back porch, all her friends gathered round and sang "Happy Birthday to you . . ." 

Surrounded by the tethered red balloon and dozens of colorful birthday balloons, she blew out the candles on the cake, making good wishes. 

"Oh, I think I'll pop your red balloon," her nasty cross-eyed cousin said, picking his nose and rolling his eyes back-and-forth.

"Don't you dare! It's the balloon my mom bought me from the county fair," Carolina said, untying the balloon and letting it fly to the heavens. 

Her cousin jumped up and down, trying to reach the end of the string on the balloon, but he was too short and small-minded to catch it. "I wanted to burst your balloon!" her nitwit cousin said, whining. "Now I can't even reach it!"

Carolina jumped from the picnic table and grabbed the string attached to the balloon. She ascended into the sky with her red balloon, climbing to the clouds and beyond with the butterflies. "Bye-bye!" she called to her friends and family. "Grab a balloon and come with me.  It's everybody's birthday!"

As her cousin dove to pop the other balloons, her friends and family took off before he could sabotage their flights.They grabbed the balloon strings and set off into the sky. 

"My feet will never touch the ground again!" Carolina said, staring at her cousin, who was still picking his nose. She wiggled her toes and kicked off her dark blue Mary Jane shoes.

“Ouch!” her nitwit cousin yelled as the shoes landed on his head. Of course, her cousin never left the earth, and she never gave him her birthday cake again. All she could see was blue sky and fields of flowers. 

 

Copyright 2015 Jennifer Waters