Santa's Breath Smells like Christmas

I wrote this back in high school for an English assignment. We were suppose to tell a family story and stretch the truth a bit.

Jolly, Old Saint Nick

        My grandfather is an excellent storyteller and whenever we go over to his house he always has a new story to share with us.His traditional Christmas story is my favorite. His brother dresses up as Santa and downs a bit too much of "Christmas spirit".  Even though I’ve heard this story many times, my Grandpa tells it with such passion, i laugh every time .

The story takes place back when my mother was still a child, roughly forty years ago. It was a white Christmas that year and the wind was so cold that frostbite was likely. They lived in a town called Northbridge. Northbridge was a small town, the type where everyone knew everyone. So when something happened pretty much the whole town knew about it.

         The main character of the story is my grandmother’s uncle, Max. Everyone who met Max instantly took a liking to him. He was a big, jolly old man who had twelve children. One of their traditions on Christmas was for him to dress up as Santa Claus. This year though, Max decided to do something different. He was not only going to play Santa for his kids, but also for all the kids in the town.

         So he put on his long, white beard, his big, red jacket, and stepped outside. On his first step out the door his feet sank into two feet of snow and wind nipped his nose. His wife looked out the doorway and warned her husband that it was too cold to be out. He thought so, too, but he didn’t want to disappoint all the children that were waiting for him. So he laughed and said “My job is not yet done. I still have presents to deliver.” He wouldn’t break character for a second. Off he went with a sack full of sweets for the good kiddies and a big menacing looking switch for the bad kiddies. Luckily, no children were bad that year.

         Throughout the night he trudged through the knee deep snow from house to house delivering gifts. If anyone saw him they'd think he was mad.  At almost every house he went to he was greeted with a cup of spiked eggnog and invited to join their parties. At each house he accepted the invitations. He was eager to get out of the icy snow and warm his feet. After a couple of houses he was feeling pretty good, after a couple more he wasn’t feeling much at all. So by the time he got to my grandmother’s house he was definitely a jolly, old saint nick.

         My grandmother’s house was his last on his route, and the kids wouldn’t go to bed until the met Santa Clause. So when he rang the doorbell my mother and her brothers flew to the door, but when they opened it they weren't sure what to do. It wasn’t the Santa Clause they were expecting. My great uncle stood there in the doorway slumped over with his beard on backwards, and a goofy grin on his face. After a moment or so he noticed the children and looked up to greet them. “Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!” After saying this Max’s face went blank and he fell forward. His work was done.

      My grandfather always says a lesson to take from this story is “If Santa comes to your door don’t give him a drink.” Though I have never met my great uncle, I know he was a very dedicated man. If he weren’t he wouldn’t have seen his job through to the very end.