I have noticed many encounters with Santa no longer offer formal
photos. I keep seeing signs for “Selfies with Santa,” where you can take your
own pictures on your phone.
When I was a child, the formal photo with Santa was a
required ritual of the season.
My mother loved these photos. My dad and grandfather both worked
at the Broadway Department Store in downtown Los Angeles, so our Santa photos were
always taken there. My first one was taken when I was sixteen months old.
I look at this photo and can’t believe I was this age when
my grandfather stood me up on my grandparents’ dining room table on Christmas Day,
where I recited A Visit From St. Nicholas. You probably know it better
from its first line: ′Twas the
Night Before Christmas. I raced through the whole thing, taking a deep breath
following each couplet. Sixteen months old! And I know it happened since my
mother recorded it in my baby book and often told the story. Besides, I
actually remember looking down at my patent leather Mary Janes throughout the
whole thing.
The next one is when I was twenty-eight months old.
My grandfather died two months earlier. He was the most important
person in my life. In November, the month before, we moved into our new house
in Alhambra, California, so my whole world had recently changed. I don’t look
too thrilled, do I?
When I was three, my younger brother was a baby. He isn’t in
this photo because he was too little (just over six months old).
I am always surprised to see photos of myself at this age
because my hair was quite light. It was dark when I was little. It lightened
until I was three. Then it grew dark again. I look as though I was forced to
get the photo taken and was trying to escape.
By four, I was a veteran at taking these photos.
My hair was growing darker again. Note the curls. Not
natural. Mom believed in permanent waves. They probably made dealing with my
thick hair easier for her. I had a sensitive scalp, so it hurt every time she
tried to brush or comb it. This is about as short as I ever wore it. (Note the
skinned knee. It was a semi-permanent condition of my childhood.)
Ron would have been about a year-and-a-half, and I think he
had his photo taken, too—by himself.
Next week, more Santa memories.
Did you have your photo taken with Santa? Do you still have
yours?
