I remember as a kid, my mother would shuffle us off into the station wagon for mid-night mass on Christmas Eve and my father would be the last to leave the house. Then during mass, all I could think of was "I\'m gonna catch Santa this year! We\'re gonna open the door and catch him pulling presents out of his red sack of gifts!"
And every year, as we drove home, my father would point up into the sky and say "LOOK! It\'s Rudolph!!!" And sure enough, we\'d all look up and see a red light in the sky....blinking. As a kid, I told myself that Rudolph didn\'t want to be seen so he\'d blink his nose and pretend to be a plane.
That would get me really excited. That meant that Santa was near by!
As soon as the car was parked, we\'d all rush out of the car like we were on fire and open the door hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa! Nope.....he was gone. And there in the cold dark fire place....covered in some ashes....presents....LOTS OF PRESENTS! What was unusually convincing about Santa\'s presence was the boot prints in ashes leading from and to table where we\'d leave cookies and milk and back to the fireplace again.
Of course, Santa would be quickly forgotten as me and my sisters would tear open our presents. We even knew which one was ours since the presents were wrapped in old brown paper and tied together with old twine....like it was from ages past. I guess Santa had no stores in the North Pole to buy scotch tape to wrap the presents with. This all but cemented our beleif in Santa even more.
Then I grew older....and I knew better. Yet my parents did them each year and I enjoyed every moment of it. Oh the magical times of yore!
Too bad I grew up.