Santa Says Hello

Every year at about this time, we get out the boxes of Christmas decorations, and every year at about this time I receive a gift from the ghost of Christmas past. For some reason I am always surprised, even though it is the same gift every year. The story begins on Christmas eve, 1945.

You may recall, Bob, that we had taken a solemn vow that night to stay up and wait for Santa, due in around midnight, no matter how difficult that might be. We would somehow keep each other awake until the magic moment, then go out and say our hellos; we were sure he wouldn't mind, in fact he'd be downright glad to see us, regardless of what Mom might think.

The next thing I knew, you were shaking me and whispering, "Mick, Mick, wake up! Santa was here; he came at midnight, but you were sound asleep and I couldn't wake you up so I had to go out and help him and then we sat in the kitchen for hours having milk and cookies and talking and then he left and I got to watch the sleigh and reindeer fly off into the sky and he waved goodbye and yelled Merry Christmas and I tried to wake you up but you wouldn't wake up!"

To say I was crushed would be an understatement. Through my tears I said, "No, no, no it's not true, you're lying, you never saw Santa, you're lying!". You responded, "I can prove he was here. He lost one of his boots going up the chimney, and I found it. See, it proves he was here." Then you pulled out the most magical object I had ever seen in my tiny little life. Santa's boot.

Years later I realized that it wasn't his boot at all, of course. It was a red plastic boot which probably had contained candy or some such goodies. At that moment, though, it had an aura of inestimable magic; and every year, when I open one of the boxes, I am caught off guard by that aura, still lingering after all these years. I'm sure that if you saw me at one of those moments, you'd still see the wide-eyed wonder of a little boy.

Thanks, Bob, for my never-ending Christmas present.