Starring Dad

How well do any of us really know our parents?

The whole world, it seemed, knew my dad, Jimmy Stewart.

A few years after my twin sister, Judy, and I were born, Look magazine named him the most popular movie star on the planet. To us he was just plain Dad.

We loved how he’d fold his lanky frame down to our level and pull us up on his lap for a story. His folksy, halting drawl left us in stitches. He was so loving and good-natured, we hated to upset him. Sometimes, though, we heard the “disappointed” voice instead of the laughing one. Judy and I weren’t always angels.

Today, people tell me they can’t hear Dad’s voice without thinking of Christmas and his portrayal of George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life. But I’m partial to one of his later holiday roles. It had a limited run before a very select audience.

It was 1958. Judy and I were seven and our family was spending the holidays in Hawaii. You’d think we’d be thrilled, but we were wondering if it would even feel like Christmas so far from home.

There’d be no singing carols on the piano bench next to Dad, his long fingers gracefully skimming across the keys. No Christmas dinner in the formal dining room. And what really mattered—how would Santa know where to bring our presents?

We asked about it night after night in our prayers, and Mom assured us again and again that Santa would find us, even in Hawaii. But there’d be no chimney to slide down in a hotel room. How would he even get in our room?

Christmas Eve the hours dragged by. Finally, Mom announced, “It’s time for little girls to get to bed. Santa won’t come until you’re asleep.” She was already in her nightgown and Dad had on his blue-and-white-striped pajamas. Even with his long arms the sleeves fell past his wrists.

Judy and I got in bed and looked at each other. We didn’t have to say a word to know we were thinking the same thing. This didn’t feel like the night before Christmas at all. There wasn’t even a place to put up our stockings! Mom and Dad kissed us goodnight and for the first time in my young life I fell asleep dreading Christmas morning.

The next thing I knew Mom was shaking me. “Dad went out to get a newspaper and then there was a knock on the door,” she said. “Wake up and see who’s here.”

I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. There was Santa! “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas, Kelly and Judy!” our visitor said, laughing merrily, his voice deep and powerful.

It was really him. White beard, red suit, black boots and a big belly—though he was taller than I’d imagined. Santa sat down and Judy and I scrambled onto his lap. I felt so comfortable, as if I’d sat there hundreds of times. Everything about him felt so…familiar.

 I looked closely at Santa. I didn’t recognize his face, covered by mounds of white beard. But I’d seen those hands before, those long fingers. And sticking out ever so slightly from one red sleeve was the cuff of his pajamas with those blue and white stripes. Mom and Dad were trying to fool us into thinking that Santa had come! 

“So, Santa, how ya doin’?” I asked, punching him playfully on the shoulder. Judy looked at me in astonishment. With a wink I shared my skepticism. She nodded—now she knew what our parents were up to. “Yeah, Santa ole boy,” Judy joined in. “Long trip, eh? How are those reindeer doing?”

“Ho! Ho!” Santa boomed. “Why they’re having breakfast. They eat hay and mangoes here in Hawaii. They sure do like soaking up some sun before we head back to the North Pole.”