Christmas Stories
My husband took our two sons, six-year-old Devin and four-year-old Chase, to a party where Santa would be handing out gifts. The instructions from the organizers were to bring our own gifts, so I brought beach towels with the kids’ names printed on them.
Upon arriving, Devin said he couldn’t believe the skinny Santa was actually Santa. His doubt turned to belief when he opened his gift.
“He has to be the real Santa!” he said. “How else would he know my name?”
My nine-year-old son, Gabriel, had heard some rumors at school that Santa wasn’t real. He approached me with a big question: “Dad, tell me the truth. Is Santa real?”
I decided to tell him it was us who had bought his latest Nintendo Wii game.
“Really?” he said. “You should have let Santa bring it. That way, it would have been free.”
Some of my favorite childhood memories involve our family’s annual trips to the local Christmas-tree farm. Although we have an artificial tree at our house, my children are still able to partake in the tradition by accompanying my parents when they cut down their tree.
When I announced we would be helping them pick a tree the following weekend, I expected Ethan, my six-year old, to be excited about the outing.
Instead, he furrowed his brow, puzzled, and asked, “What did they do with the one we got them last year?”
When my niece was a student, her class of six-year-olds sang “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” at a Christmas concert. The line “God and sinners reconciled” was a tricky one for this age group.
One little boy, with a voice that completely drowned out the rest of the choir, happily belted out, “God and sinners dressed in style!”