Finding Francie

Grandma’s player piano was set with all the Christmas song rolls ready to load. Grandpa’s basement bar was fully stocked, and all the single and double tumblers, and beer glasses were washed and ready to be filled. Festive paper tablecloths with matching plates, napkins, and cups had been placed on the six-foot folding tables borrowed from the church, and the plasticware was sitting in baskets decorated with pine cones and ribbons. All was in readiness for the arrival of food-contributing family members coming mostly from the Anderson farm. Among the anticipated arrivals would be my cousin, Betty Jean, and I could hardly wait.

Betty Jean was a year older and I looked up to her as one might a big sister. Once the party was well underway, there was plenty of singing, a little dancing, and lots of drinking and eating. The atmosphere was punctuated by the occasional crack of a newly broken rack of pool balls as the uncles and older cousins challenged one another to game after game. Betty Jean put her mouth up against my ear so that only I could hear her ask, “Want to go snoop for Santa presents?”

At nearly nine years old I was right on the cusp of no longer believing. But her question gave me a moment of pause as I considered whether I was actually ready to give up the notion of Santa. I don’t think I was quite ready but I didn’t want Betty Jean to think I was a baby. So we snuck off and up the stairs.

We poked into closets and drawers, ever mindful of the continuing din from downstairs. We certainly didn’t want to get caught. We’d freeze from time to time to listen for grownups that didn’t come. With just one last closet left to explore, we carefully drew the door open and pulled the clothes aside to look deep into the back area. And there she was. Francie. Barbie’s popular cousin and one of the hottest new items on the lists of young girls like me. In her cellophane-covered box, she stared back at me—a vision with blonde hair and checkered swimsuit. Bendable Leg Francie was the label at the top of the box. She was everything I’d hoped for with her rosy cheeks and blue eyes. I started to cry.

“Now you know that Santa’s going to bring you what you wanted!” Betty Jean excitedly said. I was excited but also disappointed because now I knew for sure about Santa.

On Christmas morning, my sister and I went into Mom and Dad’s bedroom to ask if we could go into the living room to see what Santa had brought. Because Susan still believed, I was reconciled to the notion of playing along and continuing the fantasy for her enjoyment. We walked into the living room to our unwrapped Santa presents. I looked for my beautiful new Francie doll.

There, propped up amongst several other items that had been on my list, was the familiar box. But something was different. My mind raced as I looked at her. This was a brown-eyed brunette Francie, not the blonde one I’d discovered in the closet.

Santa was still real!

Copywriter DJ Anderson, 2017