Rudy the Broom Bristle Reindeer

I have never liked Rudolph.

And look, it takes a lot for me to just not like a character. I even liked the Grinch when his heart was still three sizes too small. But Rudolph? I have never liked him. He’s weird. He creeps me out. He is not one of Santa’s original eight reindeer. He should take that thing elsewhere if you know what I mean. Honestly, I think I was traumatized by the high-pitched screeching noise that his nose made every time it lit up in the classic Claymation movie – not a good way to start a relationship with me, Rudy-ole-pal.

Some time ago, somewhere not quite the North Pole, my mom picked up a ridiculous Christmas decoration she affectionately called Rudy. A reindeer. Or two or three or – actual reindeer counts are uncertain at this point. It seems like Mom always had one more than we knew about because I personally disposed of at least one (a story, perhaps, for another time) and accounts vary on how many my siblings successfully knocked off.

It is a twig broom dolled up like a reindeer. Handle side down, its bristles are split and tied in two red ribbons (antlers apparent). Its neck is collared with thicker Christmas-plaid ribbon and jangled with a jingle bell.  For its eyes, very realistic green sparkle pompoms. And to prove its name, a red sparkle pompom nose.

Who would even do that? Who looks at a twig broom and says, “Hey! If I split its bristles in half and hot glue some festive Christmasy things on its ‘face’, it will look just like a reindeer”? Really. Tell me who. But my mom found it, loved it, and hung it on the wall every Christmas.

So what are kids supposed to do? We weren’t troublemakers. We were good kids, but we couldn’t let this thing scar us every Christmas. So we did what any sane children would do: We tried to get rid of him. Over and over and over. We tried to disappear him every year before Mom could hang him up.

He stumbled into my mom’s large Japanese vase.

He got stuck behind the toilet.

Buried in the bottom of a trunk.

Locked in the garage.

Stuffed in the freezer.

Hibernated under the back porch.

Donated to Goodwill.

Donated to Salvation Army.

Donated to St. Vincent de Paul.

Stashed in the hatch with the spare tire.

You get the idea.

The method of Rudy’s disappearance changed every year, but somehow Mom always had her reindeer hanging up at Christmas. Whether she had that many backups or whether she had the incredible mom sense always to find him, she bested us. Every stinking year, she bested us. 

I found Rudy behind Mom’s dresser this year. I’ll spare you the details of how he got there.

Have you ever been poked relentlessly in the chest by stiff broom bristles because you couldn’t help but hug a dorky Christmas decoration? I considered hanging him up on the wall in Mom’s honor, but as I recalled the years of antics and absurdity, I was overcome with laughter. That my quiet, reserved mother engaged her kids in these reindeer games is hard to believe, I know – but she did. It speaks to her love, sense of humor, and respect for tradition. These were the memories to which Mom would have wanted us to cling.

And so I cannot, in good faith, do right by my mother in displaying her Rudy on my wall this season. I must carry on our tradition, no matter how hard, and hide him somewhere far, far away from me.

Whatever weird, quirky traditions you have, keep them alive. If you don’t have any weird ones, start one this year – you’ll regret it and you’ll love it. If you can’t think of one to start, I’ve got a Broom Bristle Reindeer with your name on it.

Merry Christmas.

From my heart to yours,