"I don't believe in Santa Claus!" I brashly announced to my parents one Christmas Eve. Or as brashly as I could muster for a nine-year-old kid! (In those days--the 30's--kids maintained their innocence a long time!) "I don't believe there is a Santa Claus," I repeated, this time more daringly, "I think you guys buy my Christmas gifts!" At least that was what some of my older schoolmates had told me. And I had searched my house looking for a new, red bicycle I had earlier written Santa for (under the guidance of my parents). Nothing. Nada. So I knew I wasn't getting my wished-for present. "Of course there's a Santa Claus, son," said Mom, "so you'd better get to bed early tonight. If Santa finds you awake, he won't leave you anything!" I wanted to stay up past my bedtime for I saw no reason to fall asleep early on Christms Eve. After all, Santa, I had been convinced, was a fiction. I figured my parents probably wanted me asleep early so they could bring out the supposedly gifts that "Santa" had left. Nevertheless, I was sent to bed early with the caution, "Don't let Santa catch you awake!" But I strained to keep alert until late. Suddenly I heard a noise downstairs. Then I heard the sound of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs outside of my room. "Could this really be Santa?" Before the footsteps hit the final step, I was asleep! That was undoubtedly the fastest shut-eye in history. Yes, I did get my bike, but by next Christmas, I had joined the gang of realists spreading the news about who Santa really was! MERRY CHRISTMAS!
