I have an identical twin. At some point in our early childhood they decided that they’d concentrate on one daughter each.
Dad wanted my sister, I had Mum.
Dad would take my sis out (I remember once they’d been to Waterloo (or King’s Cross, I don’t quite remember) and they came in buoyant &!laughing as they’d met Windsor Davies.
Mum however, didn’t do anything; she could drive but refused to, so I’d be stuck in the house when DDad & DSis went out & about.
Mum was (and still is) very much a ‘I’m watching my programmes, so shut up’ parent; I think my love of books comes from having to have so much quiet time at home!
Dad was a ‘come on, we’re going out!’ fellow, and Mum really wasn’t so there’d be arguments a plenty because she’d rather vegetate on the settee. So he’d often storm about & end up taking Sis, leaving me behind with the couch potato.
DSis is only a few minutes older than me, but being the oldest she always got first pick of anything. Joint presents would end up in her room (like our shared black and white portable TV) and the hamster (SPG, from The Young Ones).
But the one that makes me sad (even as a crumbly 52 year old) was The Letter From Father Christmas.
We must’ve been around 6, and we both wrote to the old Post OfficeSanta address. I think I wrote mine on Holly Hobby paper & used my nicest handwriting (though I have no idea what I even wrote)!
When the last day of term was over, we came home from school and there was a North Pole stamped envelope with a card inside. Just the one, and it was addressed to my sister.
It had a wonderful picture of Santa & his elves busy in the toy workshop, with garlands and holly and & everything that, to a child, made Christmas magical.
Inside was a lovely message from Father Christmas, telling Sis that she wasn’t on the naughty list, and how good she had been that year. It even mentioned how well she looked after our (named) dog & cat, and that he was looking l forward to bringing her presents on Christmas Eve.
When Dad came home, he joked that I hadn’t got one as I must be on the naughty list, chuckling away and I just sat there big fat tears rolling down my cheeks.
My family didn’t do hugs or any sort of comforting, and I genuinely thought I must’ve been very naughty & thus wouldn’t be getting any presents that Christmas.
I think I had a little cry every day after the post had been delivered & there was still no card with my name on. It didn’t help that DSis would tease me about not receiving a letter from Santa & that I’d have no presents as I was so naughty.
When the last post arrived on Christmas Eve I remember just going up to my bedroom & sobbing into my favourite elephant (who still sits on my bed to this day).
Of course I really did have presents; lots were to share, so deep down I knew they’d end up in her room. It reinforced my daft belief that Father Christmas must’ve put me on the naughty list after all.
Of course my parents could’ve rectified the situation by writing their own letter as if they were the big guy, but that would’ve meant actually leaving the sofa (as Mum was my nominated parent) and it simply didn’t occurred to her.
I have written many letters & cards as Santa for the children of friends & family, telling them how good they are looking after xxxx pet, or brother & sisters, or how good they are for Mummy & Daddy, as there’s a bit of the little girl in me that’s still sad that Father Christmas forgot to send a card to her too.