- my iParenting
From Our Sponsors
- e-newsletters
- Sign up to receive our free weekly e-newsletters
- award-winning products
The iParenting Media Awards program helps parents find the best products for their families.
My Favorite Christmas Memory
By Aimee Fuller
Sitting in bed waiting for Santa with anticipation. I was 7 years old and still believed that Santa Claus was a real live person. My brother was fast asleep in his room -- he quit believing at age 3, I think. He would try to convince me that Santa Claus wasn't real. In the days before Christmas I would sit in my Dad's lap and listen to stories of Santa Claus and his flying reindeer. Dad would encourage the story and whisper in my ear that Andru, my little brother, was wrong.
Of course, (1) you had to always believe or he wouldn't come to visit you, (2) you had to be good all year round because he was watching and (3) always leave a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa and carrots for his hungry reindeer the night before Christmas. Santa had always been good to me before and why should I believe the myths my younger brother was pushing on me? Santa was really my Daddy. Santa wouldn't come to our house, we don't have a chimney. The reasons were massive. My brother was totally and absolutely convinced that my parents were Santa Claus. He would go along with it for the presents, but he never believed. Not me. I was in total awe of Santa and believed 'til I was probably 13 years old.
I had evidence left outside my room every year that he was real. For some odd reason, Santa would always drop these loud bells right outside my window as he took off from the house back into the night sky. I would hear him yelling, "Ho, Ho, Ho, and a Merry Christmas!" and then a loud thud, followed by a jingling of many bells. I would get up from bed and run outside to find a long strand of bells right under the roof line exactly underneath my window. I would look up to the sky for Santa, but his reindeer were too fast! He was gone. As quick as he came, he was gone. I would go back indoors to find my toys and plenty of goodies that Santa had left me. My brother would work his way out of bed after his excited sister ran into his room ringing those bells. It was a couple years later when I realized that my Dad was the culprit planting the bells. He would go on the roof every Christmas and yell from the roof as he jumped up and down with a throw of a strand of bells, right below my bedroom window.
This is a memory I will always cherish and never forget. He made something so spectacular in my mind stay real for me for a very long time and I will always treasure those memories of Christmas time and Santa.