SANTA ON MY MIND

By Ronnie Spector

There are two passions that have remained with me since I was a little girl growing up in Spanish Harlem: performing, specifically singing rock’n’roll onstage, and Christmas. I don’t recall which came first.

I guess entertaining my family did. My uncle would put a lightbulb in an old Maxwell House coffee tin; that would be my spotlight and I would jump up on the table and sing. I was 5 years old.

Around that time, I remember reading a book about Christmas in our apartment. On the page was Santa with his snow-white beard, in his red suit with fluffy white trim, sitting on his sleigh with a giant sack of toys. Wow! I flipped a few more pages, and I saw Santa’s black boots coming down the fireplace. Oh no—I didn’t understand this. How would I get my toys if we didn’t have a chimney, let alone a fireplace? I jumped up, ran out of the room, calling, “Daddy, Daddy!” My dad answered: “Yes, Butchie?” I asked frantically, “How is Santa going to get here with my toys, Daddy? We don’t have a fireplace.” Daddy looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, Butchie, when Santa is in New York City, he uses the fire escape.” Oh boy, what a relief! I ran into the kitchen, got out the milk and cookies, put them out on the fire escape, and went to bed dreaming of Santa. And I have been dreaming ever since.