(The following is an excerpt from the short story, "The Christmas Stocking", which is
included in "Christmas in My Heart 11", a treasury of timeless Christmas stories. It was
originally published in the 1999 Christmas issue of the Salvation Army's "War Cry" magazine.)

When I stop to analyze my life and rate the days in importance or for the intensity of
feeling, no day rates higher than Christmas Eve. There is something truly magical about that
night. For just a few hours the world seems to stand still as if holding its breath for the miracle.
This year is no exception.
My children are sleeping peacefully upstairs while my wife is asleep on the sofa. Her
pretty face is enhanced by the blinking red and gold lights from our tree. Our Christmas music
shut off a few minutes ago. I don't think I'll turn it on again. I'm enjoying this quiet time and the
memories of all the other Christmas Eves it holds.
My favorite, most magical year, was more than twenty five years ago. That is so hard to
believe. It seems like only yesterday that I was an anxious little boy, tossing and turning in
bed waiting for morning to arrive.
I remember how I used to hide my head under the covers all night. Dad told me that if
Santa saw me peeking I wouldn't get any gifts.
It was dark and warm under my NFL blanket. After almost suffocating, I allowed myself
only a bit of an air hole. It was not big enough to see out of. I couldn't take that chance. What if
Santa saw?
It's funny to remember the things I feared as a child. My parents used the idea of
Santa to keep me out of all kinds of trouble. In the summer time the threat of Santa really
held no power. Christmas was years away, and Santa would surely forget by then that I was
swimming in the river when I wasn't supposed to be.
Around Halloween time I usually started being careful. But the costumes were a big
advantage. After all, I could claim it was another werewolf throwing eggs at Mrs. Johnson's
house. I was a good boy and didn't do anything wrong.
By Thanksgiving I was really cautious. This was the beginning of the prime gift getting
season, and I didn't want to spoil it. There were more people to impress than just Santa.
Grandma always remembered if I helped her set the table for our big meal. And there
was Uncle Nick who liked me to bring him beer as he watched the football games. Yes, being
an extra good boy at this time of the year was an investment that would pay off within a month.
The year I learned the truth about Santa I was in danger of losing my Christmas spirit
forever. I was very angry. I know now my parents meant well, but I was disappointed in them.
They had lied to me. If it were not for Carol, I think I would have become a cynic at nine years
of age. I think I would have lost my faith in everything. Sometimes it's ironic how things
work out. Just when you are about to lose faith, it comes looking for you.


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Ó1999 Julie Rae Rickard