![]() ![]() There was a long line of people-I couldn’t even see Santa. I couldn’t wait to go with my dad over to Broadway to pick out our tree, and then I made my mom take me down to Macy’s so I could sit on Santa’s lap. And I have been dreaming ever since.Įvery September, I started getting the Christmas itch. 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. Wow! I flipped a few more pages, and I saw Santa’s black boots coming down the fireplace. 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. ![]() I was 5 years old.Īround that time, I remember reading a book about Christmas in our apartment. 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. 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. ![]()
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