As I was unpacking the Christmas decorations a few days ago, I was greeted by an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in a few years: Santa Bank.

I don’t remember when Santa Bank came to live with us. He’s been a part of the family for as long as I can remember.

I also don’t know where Santa Bank came from. I assume that he was a gift to me when I was a small child. His left foot says that he came from “Mexico.” I wish I knew how he got from Mexico to me.

He’s got a few cracks and chips, and part of his nose is missing. He’s obviously been well-loved.

Somebody raided Santa Bank a while back (probably me). He’s still got some coins rattling around inside, but I just leave them there.

Santa Bank hasn’t come out to visit for a few years. He’s old and fragile (like me), and I was worried that he wouldn’t survive my daughter’s curiousity.

Hopefully Santa Bank will survive long enough for my daughter’s children to forget where he came from.

***

Written for “Treasure Chest Thursday,” as well as the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories series.

Copyright © by Elizabeth O’Neal

Elizabeth is a professional genealogist, writer, and consultant. Likes: long walks in the cemetery, and the smell of old courthouse books. Dislikes: people who copy stuff off the internet without giving credit, and county clerks who can't tell the difference between Eastern and Pacific time zones. Secretly hopes her daughter will one day develop an interest in family history (but no luck so far).

Translate »
%d bloggers like this: