Just got this email. I think it is worth passing on, even though it's kinda long.
I BELIEVE IN SANTA CLAUS
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid.
I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the way my big
sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she
jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day
because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told
the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a
whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon
buns. I knew they were world-famous, because Grandma said so. It had to
be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her
everything. She was ready for me. "No Santa Claus?" she
snorted...."Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That rumor has been going
around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!! Now, put on your coat,
and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second
world-famous cinnamon bun.
"Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town
that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its
doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.
That was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and buy
something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then
she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother,
but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.
The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish
their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused,
clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and
who on earth to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my
friends, my neighbors, the kids at school, the people who went to my
church.
I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He
was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in
Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.
Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to
recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the
teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that
Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered
the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a
coat!
I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real
warm, and he would like that.
"Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter
asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a
good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag,
smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of
the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and
ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma
said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to
Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever
officially, one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept
noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me
a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present down
on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of the bushes
and Grandma.
Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to
open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering,
beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.
That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were
just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well,
and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat
tag tucked inside: $19.95.
May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that
care...
And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus!
.
). John walked with us slowly and I yelled that sorry Baloo, John is afraid. Well, Baloo sat on the ground (not an easy feat for a big guy) and waved to have John walk over slowly. Because we've been to Disney before, I understood some of the gestures that Baloo was making. He asked John to feel his fur on his hand. John let me stroke Baloo's hand with John's hand tucked in mine. All the while I was speaking softly to John:
