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I was twelve years old and it was the Christmas Season.
We were on our best behavior; you know the reason.
Christmas decorations were taken down from storage.
Some of them were from last year; some of them were vintage.

Dad brought in the Christmas tree, a fragrant Douglas fir.
Mom put on twinkle lights while listening to our banter.
The three of us, laughing, imaginations unbound.
Jumping up and down with festivities all around.

One by one, we put on bulbs and talked of seasons past.
We sang a few Christmas songs; we were having a blast.
Logs burning in the fireplace warmed us very well.
Happiness was all around until I told this tale.

When I was just a youngster, seven or eight years back.
Christmas Eve, many years before, I shared the flashback.
The babysitter kept me up, my brother in bed.
She made me promise not to tell or I would be dead!

One by one, we opened each gift there beneath the tree.
I knew that it was wrong, because I was older than three.
I felt afraid, but she was so nice, a friend to me.
She re-wrapped every gift and my parents did not see!

I kept my mouth shut all of those years; then came the guilt.
I confessed to Mom; all of a sudden, life went tilt!
Santa won't bring presents; I felt like a doormat.
All you will get is a bag of coal; think about that.

Every time presents arrived, mine would disappear.
I did not believe in Santa Clause, but I felt fear!
Mounds of gifts were piled around; none of them were for me.
Wrath befell me for years past under the Christmas tree.

Solemnly, the weeks went past and I felt very sad.
I guess I deserved it after all; I had been bad.
On Christmas day, postal gifts returned along with one more.
The bag of switches from Santa Clause, I still abhor.

© November 14, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for: your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
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