The Night I Saw Santa

Ah yes, the night I saw Santa. Each Christmas eve, I remember, Mom and Dad would set out coffee and donuts for Santa to scarf down complacently after unloading everything except my Red Ryder BB gun. I remember I gave him a hard time about that when I saw him, mouth full of coffee, powdered donut sugar on his nose and all in his beard, I gave him what for but he fudged, wouldn't go against our parent's wishes even if I gave him my slingshot. So much for Santa; I knew then that Mom and Dad were really in charge.

I recall that spirited exchange every year at about this time, though I get to bed early these days so I no longer see the old gent. I do leave him some plain green tea and a Japanese dessert that's rather neutral-tasting (by Western standards; you can't get genuine old-fashioned donuts here), but he never touches it and I don't blame him, when he can still get traditional donuts and coffee somewhere else on earth. I'm almost as old as he is now, so I suppose anyhow he's cut way back on the desserts.

From over here across the Pacific, on this snowy-mountain Christmas eve I have to say how wonderful it is even at this age to have a little brother with whom to share the magic of knowing that there really is a Santa Claus. Sorry I couldn't wake you up that night, Mick. But maybe if you stay awake tonight...