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To the Editor,
It was a night before Christmas, 1965 in this house. All were sleeping. Thoughts of dreaming. If that big man dressed in red and white would be visiting.
I told my folks there is no Santa Claus.
"He's fake…he's not real," I exclaimed. I said it over and over again. Dad said: "We will see about that."
Well Dad's words were harsh but stern. Kind of like the Father in "The Christmas Story."
So after dinner, my sister and my four brothers went off to bed. Thoughts of tomorrow rushed through my head.
I slept slightly through the night. I couldn't wait to see if my parents were wrong or right.
As my brothers arose early before morning light, we scampered to my sister's room, to wait for the time was right.
Five o'clock…five thirty…a quarter of six. All six of us wanted to see if our wish list was under the tree.
Six o'clock arrived…the time didn't matter. My parents finally wakened up.
We now get to see under the tree…our wanted stuff.
Oh yes! We pushed each other aside. Who got this? Who got that? All was there. And thoughts to share.
As we gazed at the tree, and my parents barely awake, my Father pointed at the tree that was gleaming and bright.
What? A note? "Santa left you a note," my Dad said. I then grabbed the note. And this is what it said.
"Kevin, I know that you don't believe in me. But I watch you all year round." "I never make a sound." "I know what you do." "Be kind to everyone." "And a Merry Christmas to you." "As always, Santa Claus."
He is real. He is Santa Claus. This 8 year old says: " He's real…he's real!"
"Yes son, he is real."
So I ran out to the kitchen to see on the counter. A bitten cookie, a glass of milk half full, and the sugar spread all over the counter top. Oh yes, it's all real!
As the years passed, and I grew older, I'll never forget when Santa came to town. And to my house. Merry Christmas to one and all.
Kevin Neverly
Weirton