hola, isabel

You know how we talked about my oncoming gray hair in my last post? I mentioned my dad’s gray hair. What I didn’t mention is that my dad started going gray at seventeen. Dude, seventeen is way too early to be finding gray hairs.

I don’t remember a time when my dad didn’t have gray hair. I take that back. When my dad turned forty he sort of freaked out about his age and decided to color his hair jet black, which is his non-gray natural color. It did not look natural. It looked the opposite of natural. Thankfully he never did that again.

(My family. Circa 1988. For some reason most of the pictures of my family were taken after church. Hence the get ups. Check out my dad’s gray hair and check out my mile high bangs and ultra poofy shirt. And the white skirt. Yeah, I loved that skirt. Oh my gosh, I think I’m wearing an anklet.)

While my dad has gray hair, he at least had a full head of it. I think, to him, that was a decent trade. He would have rather been gray then to have been bald (like my brothers are now). Of course now that he’s getting older his hair isn’t as thick and luxurious as it once was. But still, he’s got a lot of hair.

Along with his gray hair my dad also has a big belly. It’s hard as a rock, but still, it’s like a bowl full of jelly.

Sometime after I graduated from high school my dad decided to embrace his look. It must have been around June 1996 that he decided that there would be no more hair cuts and no more daily shaving.

He was going to play Santa Claus.

By the time December rolled around my dad’s beard was in full swing. His hair was also the perfect length to bring out his curls. He went out and bought a Santa suit and then promptly decided it was cheap and horrible looking. He then hired a nice elderly woman down the street to make him a custom Santa suit.

That Christmas season my dad went to friend’s and family’s houses and surprised them and their children. He visited the hospital my mom works at and brought joy to the patients there. Mostly he just had a blast playing Santa. Even when he wasn’t wearing the suit he wore his Santa hat, everywhere. We’d be in the grocery store and kids would stop and stare at him. Or we’d be driving down the street and a car full of kids would pass us and you’d see all of their faces light up when they saw Santa in the truck next to them. It was awesome to just be a part of his Christmas spirit.

On Christmas day, as soon as gifts were opened and breakfast was eaten, my dad shaved his beard and had my mom cut his curls off. I had grown so accustomed to him being Santa Claus that it was alarming to see him look like my regular old dad.

Next June he started growing out his hair again.

Christmas that next year was spent in the same way; my dad dressed as Santa every chance he had. He even played a few gigs and made a little money. Enough to buy himself another Santa suit. He even thought about buying a sleigh for his horses to pull him in.

Again my dad cut his beard and his hair on Christmas day. And again, it was alarming for me to see my dad again. My mom confided in me that she preferred my dad to not look like Santa. While she thought it was fun for him to play Santa she also said it made her feel old to be married to someone who looked so much older then he really was.

That summer was a little different. Instead of my dad ceasing all of his grooming habits like in the years past he continued shaving and getting his hair cut. You see, something else happened that summer. That was the summer my younger brother packed up and moved away to North Carolina for two years.

While my dad was pleased with my younger brother’s decision to go to North Carolina, he still missed him like crazy. So much so that he just couldn’t find it in his heart to play Santa that year.

The next year was the same. There was no full beard. There was no long gray curls. There was no Santa suit or red furry hat. There we no jingle bells that rang with every step. There were no loud ho, ho, ho’s. My dad seemed to have lost his Christmas spirit. He blamed it on my little brother being so far away from his home and family. I don’t know if that was really the case, but that’s what he told us.

My younger brother’s been back from North Carolina now for a long time. Heck, he’s married and has two kids now. And yet, my dad still hasn’t donned his alter ego since then. Every year I ask him if he’s going to dress up and he’ll occasionally tell me he put on the suit for a church party or for a visit to the hospital. But if he does dress up, he uses a fake beard. I don’t approve. It just isn’t the same. It isn’t as authentic.

I hope that as my parent’s grandkids get a little older my dad will grow his beard out once more and put on the red suit and make his belly laugh like a bowl full of jelly.

But until then you can find his Santa suits in the closet in their basement collecting dust. And it makes me sad.