It was Christmas Eve, many years ago, and my grandfather was lying
on the couch while I hovered over him with my map of the United
States. On the radio, the broadcaster was tracking the route of Santa
Claus, and I wanted to be prepared for him when he arrived. All the
places the radio named, my grandfather was helping me find on that
map.
In the kitchen, my mother was getting the Christmas cookies ready
to take with us the next day when we made our rounds to see all the
different parts of our family. The wrapped presents were in boxes,
each labeled with the name of the family we were to be taking it to.
My father was in his chair, reading the
newspaper and trying to conceal his amusement at my excitement over
the impending visit of that fat man in the red coat. Oh, how I hoped
that he'd be bringing me plenty of Star Wars toys that year! I'd
been a good enough kid, I thought. After all, how many sins could an
eight-year-old commit to make it onto Santa's "naughty" list?
At approximately nine o'clock, my grandmother (who had been in
the kitchen helping with the cookies) rushed into the room to say
that she'd heard something on the roof. A clicking sound, she said,
and she believed that Santa was there! Since children weren't
allowed to see him come down the chimney (and I had forbidden my
father to build a fire that night) I was to go to my room and wait. I
ran up the stairs and into my bedroom, hugging my Spider-Man blanket
around me, in rapt anticipation of what was to come! My grandfather
joined me, looking just about as excited I was.
Finally, they called me downstairs, and there he was! White
beard, red suit, and a huge sack that was practically bursting at the
seams. He told me to sit down, and asked if I had been a good boy all
year. I said I had, of course. Thankfully, my parents kept silent.
The family gathered around as Santa distributed the gifts. My mom
and dad both got small trinkets and my grandparents did as well. My
aunt, who had gotten there while I was in my room, sat next to Santa
acting as his helper. I asked where my uncle was, and she said he was
busy at home guarding the presents that would be handed out tomorrow
on Christmas Day.
I got everything I wanted and more. Star Wars toys galore! Santa
had been very generous that year and after the presents had been
opened, and the milk and cookies consumed, he said it was time to go
and my aunt graciously offered to walk him outside to his sleigh.
After he was gone, my grandfather called me over to him and
handed me one more present. It was from him, he told me, and he
wanted me to have it on Christmas Eve. I hastily opened it and what I
found inside was the one toy I had been hoping for: an action figure
of a certain shield-carrying star-spangled super hero. I hugged him
and told him I loved him, and that he was the best grandpa in the
world.
Now, over three decades later, as I write these words I look to
my left and see him there- that red-white-and blue crusader who came
into my life on that special Christmas Eve, the last one I was able
to spend with my grandfather because within a year of that night he
was gone. It's one gift that I've cherished since the day I
unwrapped it and has been with me every day since, representing the
memories of that special man who made every day- not only Christmas-
wonderful during the few short years I got to spend with him.
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