I was eight years old, and thinking I was to old to believe in Santa Claus. But at the same time, praying that he was real.
Lying in bed on Christmas Eve I was debating it in my head, and trying to stay awake long enough to hear him. I didn’t know when I fell asleep, nor for how long.
My little sister shook me awake, putting her finger over her lips for me to be quiet, and motioned for me to follow her. We sneaked down the hall, and past our parents room hoping they wouldn’t hear.
Hiding behind the wall separating the dining room from the living room we heard bells jingling. I saw my sister’s eyes get big with excitement. I peeked around the corning not really knowing what to expect.
To my amazement, I saw the back of that unmistakable red coat with white hair sticking out of a red cap. New toys were around the tree, and Santa was finishing his milk my sister had put out. He stood up, and with a nod of his head he disappeared.
We ran to the window. Bells jingled as we watched him drive out of sight; Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.