Sleeping with the enemy
Is there such a thing as Santa Claus?
I, like most kids who celebrated Dec. 25, wondered with keen curiosity whether the magical man with a belly full of jelly was real. I would use my best 6-year-old Holmesian detective skills to deduce whether reindeer really could fly and a fat man could fit through a chimney. But the red-nosed truth consisted of many layers, and my Harriet the Spy backpack of spy gear just didn’t provide the answers I sought.
Some years, there was no doubting good ol’ Santa. When I was 7, I was determined to stay awake and catch either Big Red or my lying, sniveling parents in the act. I curled my body around the base of the tree and lay awake with a book and a flashlight. When I awoke Christmas morning, I was surrounded by presents. There’s no way my klutzy parents could’ve elegantly tiptoed past their sleeping babe. Proof! And I went on believing.
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