A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

The Secret
by Carolann Blanco
December 20, 2006

Christmas was difficult for me as a small child. I was always on the outside, looking into other children's excitement, I was never very comfortable at Christmas parties. It was all quite sad. You see I had a secret, a very big secret. I don't remember when this secret came to me, it seems I have always known it but it didn't become a burden until I learned to talk, but then I suppose that is true of all secrets.

When I was very young, before my 5th Birthday, I lived with my grandparents and that is where the secret started. We were very unique. In a town where most people lived in houses, we lived in an apartment inside one of the city schools. My grandfather was the Director of Maintenance for the schools in Alliance Nebraska and there was a time when each school had an apartment so the janitors could tend the boilers, but that time was past, and only this one apartment remained. I was young enough to think living in a school gave me a certain amount of importance.

As soon as the leaves would fall and we would start asking how long till Christmas my grandmother would pull me aside and we would talk about THE SECRET. "No matter what anyone says, you mustn't tell. Don't even talk about Christmas. Keep THE SECRET." This may not seem like the most difficult thing for most children but for me it was oppressive. You see, I like to talk, a lot and I just happen to be the keeper of all the answers and correct opinions and I know it is my duty to share them even if no one asks. So The Secret was particularly difficult for me.

My first year in Kindergarten when I was 5 was a mixed blessing. I loved going to school and it was right down stairs after all. I did have some difficulty with all those kids playing on my swings, I really think I should have had first dibs, I mean they were in my yard. But I learned to adjust?.until one day the teacher pulled me aside and told me that she knew THE SECRET too and wanted to make sure I knew how important it was that I kept THE SECRET. I was growing quite confused—if it was a secret, how come everyone seemed to know. But as hard as it was I kept THE SECRET.

But now I am older, the world is different and I can tell you THE SECRET. You see in our hall closet, up high on the shelf in a white box was the Alliance Nebraska Public School's Official Santa Clause Suit. Cheema, that is what I called my grandmother, I can't quite remember why, would carefully pull out the suit and look at me and say, "Remember, it is a SECRET." And she would air it and straighten it out, it was really quite beautiful, all that luscious red velvet. The only thing that really puzzled me was that scraggly beard. Did kids really think that was real? I didn't know, I couldn't ask, it was a SECRET.

One evening just before we broke for Christmas vacation there would be a knock on the door and Granddad would announce, "It's Uncle Glen." Glen wasn't really an uncle, he was a janitor in one of the other school buildings. Glen was round, all over and he had eyes that really did sparkle when he was happy, which was most of the time and he was the most wonderful Santa. And the next day at the Christmas Party in my kindergarten at Emerson School, Santa came to visit and I kept THE SECRET, He asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas and I kept the SECRET, as the visit was drawing to and end I realized the pressure was about to end because it was almost over and I had kept THE SECRET—almost!

As Santa left the room he said, "HO! HO! HO! Merry Christmas girls and boys" and the whole class yelled "Merry Christmas Santa." All but me, I whispered "Merry Christmas Uncle Glen."

About the author:
My husband Richard and I live in Loveland Colorado at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. Prairie Home Companion has been a part of our lives for many years. There is not much to say about me, I talk too much, eat too much, think too much, give up too easily and focus too much attention on what I don't have, instead of what I do.