|
The Forever Gift by CJ Barry (c)copyright CJ Barry
I was only six, but I remember it to this day. You never forget the sound of Santa's boots on your roof. Stomp, stomp, stomp and a booming ho-ho-ho. He was at my house. My house! Little me who lived way out in the country, who had tried and tried to be a good girl. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Ho-ho-ho. How had Santa found me? Did he see me on his list? My name among so, so many? Had I been good enough after all? Stomp, stomp, stomp. Ho-ho-ho. Would he bring what I asked for? Would he remember? From all those children, how would he know who I was? Me, who was no one special. Then he is gone, leaving unbearable silence and anticipation. Waiting, wanting morning more than anything. Time ticks by slowly when you are six and Santa is so close. Somehow, morning came. Bright and cold and fresh. We sprang from our beds, long nightgowns flapping, little feet pounding the stairs. Down, down to find the tree surrounded by presents. Santa did come. He did remember. He knows who I am. I am special. And as an adult many years later, I still remember. It's not the money. It's not the gifts. It's the knowledge that my father risked life and limb to prove to me that Santa exists. I will never forget the sound of my father's boots on my roof. Or his small gift of magic that I will always carry with me. Christmas is magic. Keep it alive.
|
