She, who never asks for anything, pointed to the display case and said, “I want this.” It was a porcelain Christmas figurine, nothing short of a glazed monument. As a centerpiece, it would overtake most of a dinner table. Santa Claus was sculpted into a Mexican cowboy, with spurred boots, sombrero, and a black mustache. Mexican Santa sat high on a blanket saddle and held the reins of a red-nosed burro, lifted onto its hind legs, triumphantly carrying them to the North Pole. Like all Santas, his cheeks were ruddy and his smile jovial. Cargo hung off the burro’s flank, bulging with dolls and other children’s toys. My father bought it for my mother immediately, because she had asked.