Last night we had a little party and each person who came had to bring a Christmas story to tell, read or share. I got an opportunity to tell this one again and I wanted to share it again here for all of you. Because I love it so much.
Early one Christmas morning before anyone was up but after Santa had been there, he jumps out of bed on a clear mission. Propelled by all the curiosity that comes with being an 8 year old boy, he purposefully crawls into the fire hearth searching for proof. He wants to know conclusively that this is the way Santa arrives, in spite of the belly, and even more importantly, that Santa is implicated at all in Christmas. He has heard confusing stuff in the playground.
With a dedication to the task and an unwavering belief system, he finds a red piece of fabric, no bigger than a pin dot, which he names Santa Silk.
Next with precision and care, he takes his proof to his bedroom where he places it on a microscope slide and studies it while the sun comes up.
He places a reference sticker on this slide he calls ‘Santa Silk’ and begins to prepare his convincing speech. Sometime at the end of February he delivers his story to his fellow grade three classmates. He demands that, given the forensic evidence, that they join him in his belief in Santa. The class is divided. He gets teased and laughed at. Some find him to be a hero.
He runs home that day with his treasure, puts it in a box, keeps it to himself for 9 years when his mother stumbles upon it as she is cleaning his room.
He shares the story with her she takes the slide and puts it into a frame.
It hangs in her room to this day.