There came a time in our young lives when my sister and I began to doubt strongly the existence of Santa Claus.
Our parents, unwilling yet to give up on playing Santa Claus, allowed as how we might stay up late that Christmas Eve to watch for his arrival. We set out cookies and milk (just in case), and staked out the living room from the adjacent study. Of course, we fell soundly asleep, and Mom and Dad tucked us into bed, then went to work on Santa’s delivery.
On Christmas morning, Melanie and I woke up early, roused our parents, and rushed into the living room, looking for evidence for or against Santa. A new crop of brightly wrapped packages surrounded the Christmas tree. That was no proof of Santa at all. The cookies and milk we’d left out were gone. So what? Everyone likes cookies and milk.
I don’t remember which of us noticed the fireplace, or whether one of my parents brought it to our attention. I do remember standing in front of the fireplace, staring down at a pair of large footprints — shoeprints, really — in the cold ashes.
Being bright little girls, we quickly realized that there was someone in our house who wore large shoes. From our parents’ closet, we brought a couple pair of our father’s shoes. We carefully placed one shoe, then another, atop the prints in the fireplace. The shoes and prints didn’t match! They weren’t even the same size!
While we expected that our parents might try to trick us into continuing to believe in Santa Claus, it didn’t occur to us that they would enlist help. Some years later, we learned that the shoes that made those prints in our fireplace belonged to our next-door neighbor.
But for that year, Santa Claus was alive and well at our house.
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This Santa Claus was made by a couple who are friends of my parents; he carves the wooden figures, and she paints them. I love his rosy cheeks and craggy beard, and the glint in his eye that suggests he might pull a trick or two on a skeptical child.
For Holidailies
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Hope Santa Claus visits tonight
When Nyssa was little I cut out a big boot print in cardboard, then placed them on the floor of the den and sprinkled baking soda around them. If you lift the pattern carefully it left a boot print outline surrounded by “snow”. Well, it was Mississippi and baking soda was as close as one would get to snow most years. The prints led from the fireplace to the living room where the tree was always set up. She would always run into my room at the crack of dawn and yell that Santa had come…. she saw the mess of snow he left on the floor!
Your parents went to great lengths to keep the Santa magic going! I know he visited our house this year, because I was seen kissing him under the mistletoe the night before last.
Lovely Advent dailies! Enjoy the first day of Christmas, Kimberly!
hope all went well and merry, and that santa swept up after himself (this time…). this year was the first year that i really went into explaining the real ‘Christmas Story’ to my children. such a shame, i think, that i can no longer justify letting them believe that any man in any color suit can break into our house on this particular night. a real cryin shame.
cause tellin them the truth, well, that was much much harder.
I love this story!