Rian Malynn

The Year Rudolf Lost his Bells

It was that time of year again, the weekend of Thanksgiving; which meant that mom and dad would soon be heading out to a tree farm to pick out and cut down our Christmas tree. I could already smell the fresh pine scent that will fill the house for the next month. With anticipation of the coming holiday, I start to haul out the Christmas decorations: The musical Santa, the snow globe with the moving train, the wreath that would hang on the front door, and the greatest decorations of all, the boxes of tree ornaments.

My sister and I sat down and began to go through the boxes. Each ornament has its own little memory. Some are handmade from when we kids were little, some are store or craft show bought, and some are from family members or close friends. Each draws a smile, although some draw laughter. As we reached the bottom of one box, I pull out the sleigh bells. My sleigh bells, because my sister does not remember the year that we got them. Knowing the answer already, I ask anyway.

"Jackie, do you remember the year we got these?" I said, jingling the bells so she would know what these were.

"No" was all she replied.

"Oh, you sentimental old fool!" I said teasingly. "Mom...hey mom...remember these?"

I set off galloping around the house to get the sleigh bells to jingle. I stopped in the kitchen where mom was busy washing a sink full of dirty dishes. She only smiled and let me tell my favorite Christmas tale: It was the Christmas that I was six, which means Jack had just turned five a few weeks earlier. I can still remember not wanting to go to bed that Christmas Eve, as if any kid wanted to go to bed on Christmas Eve. I wanted to stay up to see if I could meet the real Santa. Of course we were told that Santa only went to homes where the boys and girls were fast asleep. So, with a little fight along the way, we got the cookies and milk for Santa and the carrots for the Reindeer, one for each. After we were ready for bed, I took one last look out the big glass picture window in the front room, and then headed upstairs to the room I shared with my sister.

Snow was falling lightly and the street lights were glowing their orangey glow. It was a tranquil night, though to my dismay I did not see Santa or his band of merry Reindeer.

With all the excitement we had had that day, sleep soon overcame my sister and me. We shared a bed, her feet facing the headboard, my feet facing the footboard. Jackie fell asleep before I did. I was on my way to a deep sleep when I heard bells jingling in the distance.

"Jackie, hey Jack...hear that? It’s Rudolf and Santa. Listen." She did not. She only mumbled a few groggy comments and rolled over. She was fast asleep. As excited as I was that Santa might be somewhere near, I too, was soon fast asleep.

The next thing I remember is our parents coming into the room and bouncing our bed to wake us. After a few seconds we were fully awake, wiping that awful, gucky sleep sand from the corners of our eyes.

"So are we going to go down and find out if you have been good or bad this year?" Mom asked us. "Mooomm..." we cried in unison, "We’ve been good, really, very good." It is the typical reply that can be heard from any five or six year old. I had almost forgotten what I had heard as I was drifting off to sleep the night before.

"Guess what ...mom...dad...listen! Hear me! Guess who I heard last night? Santy Clause! And the bells! The Reindeer, I heard them. He was here! I heard them!" I said, dancing around, my pajama feet making a shuffling sound on the bare bedroom floor. Had I been older, I would have known from the start that the look my parents exchanged was a look that said ‘she fell for it!’

"Is that so? I was awake for a while I don’t remember anyone stopping by," my dad said teasingly. "Hon, do you remember anyone stopping by last night?" he asked my mom.

"Nope... I think I would have remembered seeing a big guy in a red suit."

Through all this my sister just smiled impatiently, clutching her ratty, well-loved, multi-colored knitted blanket that never left her side. She wanted to get down those stairs to those presents. That was the only thing on her mind. So we all climbed down the stairs that led to our living room.

Gramma and Grampa were already up and waiting. Gramma’s hair was already in her pink curlers and Grampa already had the TV turned to the Christmas parade. Christmas morning, before all the football games, was the only time he was willing to let us kids watch TV. Jackie made a b-line for the tree that was surrounded by presents. I, however, had to tell Gramma and Grampa about all the things I had heard last night...I told them about the bells, and how it was Santa’s reindeer bells that I heard.

They smiled and pretended not to be excited, knowing all along the real truth. I must have continued on constantly about it, not giving up, because within a few minutes mom and dad had us get on our winter boots, hat, mittens, and our winter coats. All bundled up, we headed out to the front yard.

"Can you see any Reindeer tracks?" my parents asked me when we were all standing at the front of the house.

I squinted hard, trying to see them.

"Don’t know...maybe...I do! I see their feet!"

Though I thought I saw Reindeer tracks, what I saw was nothing. It was just the over active imagination of a six-year-old.

"What is that there?” my dad asked, pointing to the roof.

"Where? What?" I shouted with great excitement.

"Right on the edge of the roof".

"I don’t know," I said quizzically. "Go find out!"

Dad, who has always been afraid of heights, went and got the old paint stained and weathered ladder that my Grampa kept at the back of the house. Dad set the ladder against the house. With mom holding the bottom steady, dad climbed, slowly, carefully, never letting go. As he reached the top, he took a deep breath, and still clutching the ladder with one hand reached over and grabbed the object he had pointed out to me.

"Well, I’ll be..." he shouted from the top.

"What!?" I wanted to know.

"I don’t believe it."

"What...what!?" I was growing impatient. I wanted to know what he couldn’t believe.

He didn’t answer me. He just stood there at the top of the ladder, clutching both the ladder and the new found object while he shook his head.

"What...Daddy...What is it?"
Dad continued to tease me as he climbed back down the ladder: a little quicker than he had climbed up. As he reached the bottom, he turned to mom.

"Hon, I think we need to call the BIG GUY at the NORTH POLE." His voice was calm and serious. In front of him, he dangled a long strip of brown material with bells attached. I couldn’t believe it! What a lucky six-year-old I was.

That was the year Rudolf lost his bells.

I can remember thinking that Santa was going to be angry with Rudolf.
I was worried, but I said nothing of the sort. I was so excited. I wanted those
bells! I knew they had belonged to no one other than good ol’ Red Nose
himself. I was sure of it. I just kept asking if I could have them.

Could they be mine? That whole time mom and dad teased me. Going
inside, they made a call to the North Pole; just to make sure it was ‘OK’
with the BIG GUY. To think, all those presents under the tree and I wanted a  pair of bells. They gave in after that call and the bells were mine! I had lost track of Jack; no doubt that she was busy with those presents. I never did find out what she did during that whole episode.

Each year, as we prepare for the holidays, the year that I was six pops up in my head. For years, until I was around ten, I had believed in Santa and that my bells had once been Rudolf's’. I was a bit disappointed in learning that Santa was not real. That meant that my bells had not been Rudolf's’; the whole thing had been set up by my parents.

Now that I am older, I appreciate what my parents did for me that year.They gave me a memory that will last a lifetime, not only a memory, but the opportunity to start a tradition when I am ready to begin a family of my own. The most important thing that I learned from this wonderful memory is that Christmas is not a time of getting  presents, but a time of giving - especially when it is from the heart!  © Rian Malynn