We were pretty smart kids. At least that's what we thought. We'd heard that old Santa Clause yarn plenty of times, but still, we knew there was something fishy about the whole thing. We had this strong suspicion that Mom and Dad were really the ones responsible for the gifts, but a shadow of doubt always lingered. So, one Christmas my older brother Mark, and I decided to find out once and for all. We devised a tactical military operation to catch Mom & Dad in the act of putting those presents under the tree and thereby demolish that Kris Kringle myth forevermore.
Now, we knew that there was nothing under the tree on Christmas eve. That was an established fact. And then, on Christmas morning there would be boxes wrapped in sparkling paper with bows and tinsel and bags of toys and the stockings hanging on the windowsill would bulge with gifts and goodies, and there was no way that Santa Claus, or anyone else, could sneak in and do all that work without making considerable noise. So, our plan was simple. After everyone had gone to bed; we'd hide in the hallway outside our bedroom and wait 'til we heard something. Then, we'd spring into the living room and catch the culprit (or culprits) red-handed.
Well, on Christmas Eve everything started out according to plan. We went to bed early like good little soldiers do; so they can be up at the crack of dawn on the big day. When we heard Mom and Dad turn the light switches off and then close their bedroom door… we went into action.
A hidden observation point was needed. Didn't want to scare off the enemy too soon. So, we took all our pillows and some extra blankets into the hallway. There we constructed a perfectly camouflaged pillbox, just big enough for two young boys on reconnaissance patrol, right at the corner to the living-room where the Christmas tree / killing-zone was located. From this position we could watch both the parents bedroom door and the battlefield area by simply turning our heads. And no one could possibly see us. Perfect. No way anything could slip past us without being noticed.
"You awake?"
"Yeah. Don't fall asleep."
"I won't… There's nothing under the tree, I just looked."
"Yeah, me too."
"You think Mom and Dad are asleep?"
"Well, it's pretty quiet."
"Yeah… What if they find us watching and don't put any presents out this year?"
"I don't know. I don't think anybody knows we're out here. Be still."
"Okay."
"Just don't fall asleep."
"Okay."
We lay there in silence for what seemed like hours. Every fifteen minutes one or the other of us would stick our heads around the corner to check the tree. Nothing. Then…
"Wake up! We fell asleep."
"Did we miss it?"
"Let me see… no, nothing under the tree."
"What time d'ya think it is?"
"It's late, must be 3 or 4 in the morning."
"Do you think we scared Santa away, or made him mad trying to catch him?"
"I don't know, maybe."
"Maybe we won't get any presents at all this year…"
"I don't know. Naw… just don't fall asleep."
"Okay."
We returned to our vigil; peeking around the corner every so often to watch for visitors. The hall was dark and still. The night seemed to drag on forever. Now, I don't know about my brother, but to this day, I have a vague sort of memory of a short, very fat man with tall black boots and baggy red pants… and he's tip-toeing around our living room at 811 Cleveland Avenue stuffing packages into the stockings on our windowsill… and I'm almost positive I didn't fall asleep…
But, what we both remember is someone calling…
"Hey, aren't you boys gonna get up and see what Santa brought you?"
…And it was daylight outside and there we were, sprawled out in the hallway floor on a nest of pillows and blankets and Mom and Dad and my other brothers standing over us with quizzical looks on their faces. And I jerked my head around and sure enough, there under the Christmas tree in the living room were more presents than one boy could count and the stockings thumbtacked to our front windowsill had been stuffed to the brim.
I looked at Mark and said, "I didn't fall asleep, did you?"
"No, me either", he said rubbing his eyes... "It must have been magic."
And, it was.
CHRIS MOORE
© 2002
