Seventy-three years ago today two people were married. About seven years later I entered their lives and gave them a run for their money. They never knew what to expect from me.

Shortly before this picture was taken this lovely couple took me to Rogers’ Furniture Store on North Court Street in Louisville, Mississippi. That is the first memory I have of visiting Santa Claus. Being in a small town, I suspect whoever was playing the part of Santa probably knew my parents, but it was his first encounter with me.

I watched as the children ahead of me in line were greeted by the great bearded wonder and heaved upon his knee. To each child in line was given a lollipop while they waited, and by the time I reached the jolly old elf I had worked mine into a big sticky mess. As the man in red reached to pull me up onto his lap my predigestive juices were at their peak. He reached down for me and I reached up for him, and when contact was made my lollipop burrowed deep into that fake beard he was wearing.

Not wanting to lose my lollipop, I pulled with all my might to save it. I was pulling on that sucker and he was trying to hold on to his beard.

Fortunately, the proprietor of the establishment saw what was about to happen and came forth with a pair of scissors. Moments later the lollipop was freed, and his beard had a small gap in it. I got a new sucker minus the beard whiskers and that was when I told him I wanted a Betsy Wetsy for Christmas that year.

I suppose my mother had a lot to do with little Betsy being under my tree that year - much to my father’s chagrin.

I loved Betsy. I took her everywhere with me from that day forward. If we went to town, Betsy went. If we went to church, Betsy went.

I know my father was probably mortified that a boy of his had a doll, but he never mentioned it to me. By the time summer rolled around I was going places Betsy couldn’t go. Or at least places I didn’t want to take her. Places like fishing, riding horses, and swimming. Before I realized what had happened Betsy was gone. I was going to play with her one day and she had vanished. I looked in my closet. No Betsy. I looked under my bed. No Betsy. I looked in my brothers’ closets. No Betsy. No one had seen her. She had just vanished into thin air.

Now that I am older I have my suspicions. There is one prime suspect at the top of my list, but he passed away a long time ago, and I never got around to asking him if he sent her to live with someone else.

But the following Christmas we returned to that furniture store on North Court Street and I was going to ask Santa Claus for another doll. Believe it or not, he remembered me. In fact, the store owners remembered me, too. There had been a change of procedure since my last visit. They didn’t give the children lollipops until AFTER their visit with the great bearded wonder. Imagine that.

When it was my time to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas, I told him I wanted another Betsy Wetsy. He smiled, nodded and set me back on the floor, I was given my lollipop and left feeling confident I would find Betsy beneath my Christmas tree later that month.

That was the year I got a Daisy B-B gun. Disappointed? Nope. Time passed and I forgot all about Betsy and dolls and such until I was a teenager. It was then that I wanted a real life doll. Preferably one that did not wet. It’s funny how life opens new doors to you as you travel through time.

The folks that took me to see Santa way back then have been gone a long, long time. I was blessed to have them for parents. Seasons of life crept upon me and my time as Santa came and went in the blink of an eye. There were times my children asked for thing that just made me shake my head and think back to that time of my childhood when I fell in love with a doll named Betsy. Like the year one of my daughters requested a Hercule Walker football, and without hesitating I put it beneath the tree. The pendulum swings -or so they say.

My family now numbers sixteen and I feel blessed. It’s their turn to play Santa these days, and I’m thrilled to have been able to pass the torch on down to them.

And to think it all began when two people fell in love and were married seventy-three years ago.

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Rick Algood
December 3, 2018