An enchanting story from a dear friend long ago:

SANTA’S CURTAIN
  By Frater Cullen Steffan, O.F.M. Cap.

       What’s that? You’ve never heard of Santa’s curtain? Well come closer friend-for Santa’s Curtain is just as much a part of Christmas as the glistening Christmas tree or even jolly old Santa himself.

Usually we speak of a curtain as some hanging screen which we draw back at our pleasure. Santa’s curtain was just such a curtain, only much more besides. When Santa’s curtain is drawn back it releases untold joys and produces unforgettable memories. 

       Santa’s curtain entered my life for the first time on the morning of December 24th, 1934. I rose early and skipped carelessly to the dining room of our home. Coming to a sudden halt, I stared in utter bewilderment at a large, grey, drab-looking curtain which sealed off the entrance to our parlor. Although it was not the type of curtain which would be conspicuous for its beauty, I was fascinated and mystified by its purpose. Then I took note of my other surrounding. On every picture and mantelpiece were large boughs of blue spruce and pine trees, gaily accented by dainty red bows and small clusters of imitation mistletoe berries. Silver bells glittered brilliantly from the chandelier suspended above the dining room table. My eyes danced from one object to another, each more attractive than the last. A stocking, bulging with Christmas candy, Hershey bar, peppermint sticks, and a lump or two of coal, hung motionlessly from the mantelpiece above the fireplace. Yet the dark grey curtain absorbed my attention.

       Running to my father’s room, I jumped on his bed and climbed upon his rather corpulent stomach. “What is it, what is it!”, I excitedly stammered. “What is what?” my father drawled, attempting to shift my weight. “The great big curtain”, I cried. “Why that’s Santa’s Curtain”, my father replied. Yes, that was Santa’s curtain, a curtain which was to be a sign of hope and joy for seven succeeding years.

     Throughout the morning and afternoon of that December 24th, 1934, I quietly tiptoed in childish, clumsy way to Santa’s curtain and attempted to peek through the bottom or sides. Santa, however, was as wise as he was jolly and made certain no such “peeking holes” were available. Occasionally when my imagination would catch the shadow of a plump figure busily at work behind the curtain, I would go stumbling off to my mother exclaiming: “Santa is in there, RIGHT NOW, mommie!” Filled with expectation, I darted from room to room continually popping questions. “What’s Santa putting behind the curtain?” Will everything behind the curtain be for me?” “Will Santa give me the shiny tin soldiers, and speedy little cars and big tractors that I want?”

       The climax of Santa’s curtain came at seven o’clock in the evening. Still attempting to take a quick “peek”, and still bubbling over with questions, I suddenly heard the tingling of small bells-like those which would be attached to a sleigh. A loud knock at the door sent me skirting behind the nearest chair. A vibrant, bellowing voice echoing: “Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas to all” sent goose pimples darting up and down my back. As my father opened the door. I peered from my hiding place. Then I saw him - I saw SANTA HIMSELF! He stood in the doorway just as a modern poet described him:

     His eyes how they twinkled so gay,
        And his dimples, how marry were they,
     His cheeks were like roses when kissed by the sun,
        His nose like a cherry all wrinkled with fun,
     His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
        The beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

I gasped, and running to his side tugged at the soft, white fur trim on the sleeve of his red jacket. Setting down the large bag which he carried, Santa chatted with me. Finally he asked me the age-old question: “And have you been a good little boy all year, Paulie?” “Oh, y--ye--yes, Santa” I stuttered. “Well then, I will take down my curtain and show you what I have prepared for you.” My heart pounded and I stood motionless as Santa removed, one by one, the thumb tacks which held the curtain in place. Slowly the curtain drew back and finally fell to the ground. I drew a long, deep breath, nearly drowning as my mind swam in a labyrinth of colored lights, brilliant ornaments, little tin soldiers, electric trains, and stacks of presents carefully wrapped in white paper with large, red ribbons. I dashed into this playland of happiness, completely oblivious of Santa, my parents, or the curtain which lay trampled under my feet.

     Yes, Santa’s curtain was always a necessary part of Christmas for me. Now that curtain is packed away in some attic trunk, awaiting another chance to bring joy and happiness to youthful hearts in a new generation. I shall never forget Santa’s Curtain - for it is not just a sentimental remembrance of past toys, but a symbol of love - my parents’ love.

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Note: I received the above story of Fr. Paul (Cullen), from his nephew and name-sake, Paul Steffan of Buffalo, New York.