I Killed Santa Claus

The front door to the house where I grew up was thick distorted glass surrounded by the wooden door frame and at Christmastime there would be a poster of Santa waving to everyone hung on the glass.

I had asked for a bb gun one Christmas which, almost certainly, had caused considerable discussion between my parents. After having asked for it my mother said something like “you’re too young for that kind of thing” and “It’s too dangerous, you’ll shoot your eye out”. My father must have won because on Christmas morning there was the Daisy air rifle with the genuine wood grained plastic stock. I was warned several times to never, ever, never shoot it in the house and to shoot it only in the backyard and then only toward the open field behind our backyard.

It was the morning after Christmas when I was messing around with my new bb gun. I thought it was empty of ammo but there must have been one little bb in there. I took careful aim at Santa Claus and pulled the trigger. To my complete shock and amazement the bb hit Santa right between his eyes, causing a small crack in the glass. I heard the bb ricochet around our living room and can still remember the small copper colored bb that came to rest on the carpet in front me.

From the sound, you might have thought Mom was giving birth to a fifty-seven pound calf. After she chewed me out, she said the words known to strike terror all kids the world over, “Wait ‘till your Father get’s home!” I can remember my sisters and brother looking at me with a mixture of pity and glee. My brother said it turned out to be a good shot and that if the Santa were real it would have killed him dead for certain.