I still believe in Santa Claus

1969, a few weeks before my seventh Christmas. I was lying on the living room floor with my three-year-old brother, coloring paper Christmas ornaments cut from a coloring book. My mother was out on an errand. My dad and older brothers were working on pipes under the house that had broken due to the frigid temperatures.
One minute, I was an innocent child excited about coloring decorations for the family Christmas tree; the next, chaos broke out. My father ran into the room shouting for my brother and I to go outside. We balked at the idea of leaving our projects unfinished and going out into the cold. There was a short standoff after which my brother and I were each tossed unceremoniously out into the front yard with orders to run to the neighbor’s house to call for help.
The house was on fire!
The rest of the night has remained a vivid memory all of these years as I stood listening to the neighbor, who kept voicing her concern in elaborate detail, saying how our house was a total loss and was burning to the ground. I still remember how terrified I was staring out the window, watching helplessly as the flames flickered high into the night sky.
I was upset that our Christmas tree was still in there, and I felt a tinge of guilt that I had not gotten out when my father first told me to go.
I can recall the amazement of seeing the firetrucks race down our otherwise quiet street. And trembling as the water shot high in the sky, as the firemen worked to squelch the flames.
Fortunately, the house did not burn to the ground. The only real damage was in my bedroom. While the rest of the house sustained smoke damage, my bedroom was destroyed. I lost most of my toys, including my favorite stuffed rocking horse and my Thumbelina doll.
What I did not know at the time was that the top of my closet was the hiding place for the much-awaited Christmas presents. Presents, which were burned beyond recognition.  My parents, having little money to begin with and now faced with major home repairs, did not have the money to get new ones. As it was, my dad was working two jobs and barely making ends meet, so this was an added stress that left them feeling even more helpless. No parent wants to let their kids down, especially at Christmas time.
Mom and Dad sat us down and explained to us that we would not be getting any presents on Christmas Day.
I was not worried as I knew Santa would bring us presents.
They tried to tell me that Santa was struggling and could not visit, but I wasn’t worried. Santa always visited, so I didn’t think he would stop now.
We moved into my grandparents’ home. They weren’t used to having kids underfoot, so we had to be on our best behavior. My brothers and I were all under nine, being good in a small house without toys was mighty difficult.
 Dad continued to work his two jobs and then went to the house to work on it. Mom and my grandmother didn’t get along very well, so it was not a happy time. We were a family of six, cramped into a house that was really only big enough for my grandparents. Not being a close-knit family to begin with, the tensions were high, and we were all ready to return to our home or at least what was left of it.
We ended up moving back in to our house even before the work was completed. Our neighbor graciously allowed my parents to run an extension cord for power. And while my bedroom was still unlivable, that was the only real damage to the house. I slept in the room with my little brother while Dad continued repairing my room.
 While I was happy to be back in the house, I did not understand how helpless my parents felt as Christmas approached, knowing there was nothing they could do about the lack of presents under the tree.
Christmas Day arrived, and much to my dismay, there were no presents under the tree. I was confused, as I had really thought Santa would make it, especially since he knew we really needed some presents. I had seen him, sat on his lap, and made sure he knew he really needed to come. 
While we did not have any presents, we were greeted by a white Christmas, with lots of white, fluffy snow. Saddened by the lack of presents, Mom and Dad encouraged us to go out and enjoy the freshly fallen snow.
Upon opening the front door, we were greeted by a small array of toys sitting on the front porch with a note that simply said Merry Christmas, from Santa Claus.
I do not remember what my brothers got, but I received a wonderful little table with four chairs. Painted like denim jeans, the alphabet was printed around the edges. It was a simple gift, only a single present on a cold Christmas morning, but it was mine.
Santa had not forgotten me.

My mom and dad were brought to tears that Christmas morning so very long ago. Presents were found where none were supposed to be. They never had the opportunity to thank that anonymous Santa for the joy he brought to four very grateful children, but he is remembered to this very day by one grateful girl who truly believes in Santa Claus.

How about you? Do you have a special Christmas you remember? 

#Christmasmiracle #Ibelieve #Ibelieveinsanta #secretsanta #childhoodmemories #Thekindnessofstrangers