Do You Believe in Santa Claus?

[tryintohelp]

I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big
sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even
dummies know that!"

My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day
because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told
the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier
when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they
were world-famous, because Grandma said so.

It had to be true. Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between
bites, I told her everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?"
She snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going
around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat,
and let's go."

"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second
world-famous cinnamon bun.

"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town that
had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its doors,
Grandma handed me ten dollars.

That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy
something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car. "Then
she turned and walked out of Kerby's.

I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but
never had I shopped for anything all by myself.

The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish
their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused,
clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to
buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my
neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.

I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He
was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in
Mrs. Pollock's second grade class.

Bobby De cker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to
recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the
teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't
have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill
with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!

I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real
warm, and he would like that.

"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter
asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."

The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a
good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag,
smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and
ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it (a little tag fell
out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible). Grandma said that
Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's
house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially, one of
Santa's helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept
noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.

Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered,
"get going."

I took a deep brea th, dashed for his front door, threw the present down
on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes
and Grandma.

Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to
open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.

Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering,
beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.

That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just
what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we
were on his team.

I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside: $19.95.

May you always have LOVE to share. And may you always believe in the magic
of Santa Claus!!!

[Ann]

What a heartwarming story, thank you for sharing it here. This is truly the spirit of Christmas, love and sharing and giving.

Hugs

[scaredykat]

Thank you for your story. It definitely shows the true meaning of Christmas. Peace.

[ImWho]

Thankyou so much for this story. My 8 year old catches alot of grief for believing. You gave me some wonderful ideas of how to show her the meaning of Santa.
Merry Christmas!

[Pony]

I just read this and really wished I had gotten in here earlier to see it. What a wonderful story. My youngest daughter, who is about to turn 10, has known since last year that her dad and I buy her Christmas gifts and put them out.....but this year she asked me....if there really was a Santa and said to please tell her the truth.

Now, my dad was a big believer in Santa Clause and everything "he" stands for and always told me.... "Yes, Santa is real" . I told her that I do believe that Santa is real..... and tried to explain in a similar manner, but would have loved to have shared this story with her.....and I think I will still.

There is a little bit of Santa in all who give to others.