Remember when getting a Tiny Tears for Christmas was all that mattered in the world? The feel of Santa’s beard when you sat on his knee in the grotto and whispered all your childish hopes and dreams into his ear? Remember lying in bed listening to your Mum and Dad wrap your presents downstairs, then closing your eyes and pretending you hadn’t just heard the jingle of Rudolphs bell’s fluttering past your window? Remember what it was like to be a kid at Christmas? To not believe anymore, but to want to believe with all your heart, just in case?
One of the most scrumptious aspects of Christmas as a child was writing a letter to Santa, and these letters on the Ontario Archive are lovely little reminders of the children we used to be…
My name is Jennifer. I can’t wait until Christmas. I know that my mother and father give me toys, but I know that you fill my stocking.
Please bring Fluffy, my kitten, a treat. He has been a good little kitten so far. Please write a letter and please leave it on the fireplace. One night I heard your bells.
My little brother, Jim, is a year. He can walk, but he can’t talk. I forgot to tell you I am 8 years old.
Is it true that you have Rudolph? If it is, please write it on the letter. I will leave something on the table for you. I can’t belive that your reindeer fly. I had better go now.
As is the joy on these little girls faces, as they show off their Christmas Dolls.
You know I used to think that the magic of Christmas had gone: that children were so spoilt that nothing could please them. Now I only have to look at Finns face when we see a Christmas tree to know that it is our expectations of what we should give them that have changed. That the magic of Christmas remains and we just have to teach our children to expect less and see so much more…
Christmas can be just as joyous as it was in 1956. I’m sure it can.