I suppose there is a time in everyone’s life when we stop taking what our parents say as the gospel truth.  It’s hard for me to recall the exact moment when this happened for me, but I do remember a Christmas in the early 80s when my sister and I crossed this threshold.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, we had been fed the usual stories about Santa.  “He’s coming down the chimney!” my dad would say.  “We’ve got to get the cookies ready!” my mom would chirp.

My sister and I shook our heads.  We wanted to believe that the world might still harbor someone as good as Santa.  But our practical sides told us something completely different.

And, really, there was only one way to know.  We needed to conduct a stake-out.

So, much to our parent’s consternation, on Christmas Eve we moved the living room couches around the tree, gathered some blankets and pillows and settled in.

Despite our parents’ pleas, we remained on the couches as darkness fell.  We were going to find out, once and for all, if Santa was real or not.

We made a valiant effort to stay awake.  But deep into the night, somewhere around 8:30PM, we were fast asleep in our underoos.

God only knows what kind of parenting skill it took to make sure that all the gifts were scattered safely under the tree without waking me and my sister, but my parents passed the test.  I suppose if Dante ever wrote a parenting version of his Inferno, this scenario would be in about the seventh circle of Hell.

Soon the sun rose.  And soon my sister and I broke our slumber.  The cookies were gone, save a few crumbs.  The gifts surrounded us.  And Santa had made it safely through our house.  “Did you see him?” my sister asked.  With all of the bravado of a seven-year-old I responded, “Yes, of course.  You didn’t think that I’d miss him sitting in this couch.”

So, with only a bit of cognitive dissonance, we proceeded to tear into our gifts and celebrate the reality of the jolly, red-clothed man.

The next year, the gifts mysteriously appeared near our basement fireplace.  This was quite unorthodox on Santa’s part.  And soon we had a good laugh thinking about how our parents pulled one final Christmas over on us.

And I’m happy that I didn’t see Santa that year.  The world can be a tough place sometimes.  And the world really does need a Santa Claus.  I sure hope that he enjoyed the cookies.

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