Silent Night and the Tree who Wasn't

Hi, my name is Patti Jean, but most ever'body calls me 'PJ.' There's been Patti Jean's in my family since the Revolution, but that's another story. No, this is a story about me, me and the night I turned thirteen.

Christmas Eve started like it always does: fresh, homemade muffins and cartoons. Mom left for work as usual and I finished wrapping all my christmas gifts. Then there was sledding and a snowball fight with Alex and Sam, the twins who live across the street, and a book, a mug of hot chocolate and me, curled up in a blanket on the windowseat.

Dad called just as Mom got home and we all got to chat for a while before he had to go. "Now be a good girl," he told me, "and no sneaking around too early."

"But you're not here!" I blurted out. "How can I wake up Santa if you're not here?"

He laughed and said, "I love you, sweetie, Merry Christmas."

I said, "I love you," back and passed the phone back to my mom. Just then Dad seemed worlds and worlds away instead of just halfway around the world, helping the UN keep peace in some country I didn't even know how to spell.

Jerad and Mike didn't seem too upset, though. They went back up to their room and played loud rock and roll christmas music until Mom yelled upstairs to quit it or else. She rolled her eyes at me and we both laughed. All too soon it was bedtime.

Mom kissed me on the cheek and said, "Happy Birthday," and tucked me into bed like she hadn't done since I was little. Like I did every year, I tried to stay awake until midnight, my birthday, but I just couldn't do it. The last I remembered was Mom banging on the boys' door and telling them to be quiet, that some people liked to sleep at night.

A tinkling noise woke me and I groaned, fishing about until I could see my alarm clock. The glaring red lights made me wince and I rubbed my eyes until I could see. Three-forty-three. I sat upright in bed. There was that tinkling noise again! I hadn't seriously believed in Santa since Jerad spilled the beans when I was seven, but at that moment, Santa was the only thing on my mind. I crept out of bed as quietly as I could, opened my door ever so slowly, and tiptoed down the hall.

The tinkling got louder as I reached the stairs and I also now began to hear a low, grumbling noise. Slowly, I let myself down the stairs, keeping to the shadows against the wall.

One of the steps creaked! I froze in the sudden silence. But our cat saved me. Sebastian bounded down the stairs past me, meowing loudly as he went by. He knew I was awake and wanted fed, like always, despite how fat he was and the vet always putting him on a diet. But the tinkling noise started up again, this time quieter and without the muffled noises.

Forever seemed to pass before I reached the bottom stair and could peer around into the living room. My mouth dropped open and my eyes got real wide. There was a man, dressed all in red, with a white beard and black boots, standing in our living room.

I put my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling. Santa's pants were also somehow caught by the christmas tree. He was tugging, trying to get loose, and that was what was causing the tinkling I heard. The bag by his feet was half-open, revealing the packages inside, but I couldn't move, so shocked and thrilled was I.

Then Santa gave a mighty heave . . and pulled down the christmas tree! He fell over backwards, crashing into the coffe table and showering the floor with the red, white, and green m&m's left out as decoration (and so Mom has something to munch). Sebastian in the doorway to the kitchen began to hiss and a loud clatter came from above as my brothers' feet hit the floor.

I tiptoed around the back of the couch and picked up Santa's hat. It didn't seem quite real and I looked inside. The lights were still blinking on the tree and I could dimly make out the words, "Johnson's Costume Shop," written on the tag. Then three things happened all at once:

The overhead light flicked on, Santa poked his head over the back of the couch, and I dropped the hat.

"Santa's" white beard dangled from one ear and his black hair was ruffled and untidy. He looked even more tired than Mom does after a fourteen-hour shift at the hospital, and his face showed the start of a beard and was bright red in embarrassment, but I could have recognized that man anywhere.

Jerad, Mike, and I all yelled at once, "Dad!"

Our hooting and hollering brought down Mom and she began to laugh, even though she was crying as she hugged my dad. They kissed, my brothers set the tree back up, and Sebastian clawed my legs in his eagerness to be fed.

When we were all settled down, with Mom's rolls safely in the oven, Dad told us how he'd come to be home on Christmas. Seems the Reserves were let go unexpectedly early and he arranged it with Mr. Johnson to come home. Mr. Johnson was Dad's first boss when he was in high school (Mike works for him now) and he gladly agreed to pick Dad up from the airport and help arrange the surprise.

Dad laughed and said, "And if it hadn't of been for that tree, I'd of surprised you all for sure!"

And it seemed, as we opened our presents and ate our Christmas dinner, that the best and greatest moment that year happened at three-forty-three on Christmas morning, when a star-struck teenager set her eyes on Santa Claus.

Merry Christmas!