Christmas Through a Child's Eyes by Helen Szymanski Page A

he had kissed Mama, he peeked around her and quickly shouted, “Boo!” Off the little ones ran to the bedroom, giggling all the way.
    After supper and our baths, Mama began the evening ritual of tucking us in. We begged her for one more story, one more trip to the bathroom, and one more sip of water. We were all too excited to sleep. How could we bear to wait until morning? Being the oldest, I made constant trips to the living room to make sure all was ready. Were the cookies and milk set out for Santa? What of the chopped carrots for the reindeer?
    Mama looked over her shoulder from where she sat on the sofa, hearing my unvoiced worries. “Patsy, Santa won't come with your presents if you don't get to sleep soon.” Finally, she came to sit on the edge of my bed that I shared with my little sister, Kathy. We were snuggled deep under the covers, giggling.
    â€œMama, I hope Santa brings me the baby doll I asked for,” I said with a big yawn.
    â€œMe, too,” Kathy added sleepily.
    Mama smiled. “I'm sure you girls won't be disappointed.”
    The next thing I knew, Daddy and Mama were standing by the bed shaking me gently. “Come see what Santa has brought you!” Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I bounded from the bed and hurried toward the living room.
    At the threshold, I stopped. The other kids pushed past me to sit beside Mama. They crowded around her on the floor near the tree. Daddy sat on the sofa watching me. As his one good eye met mine, he smiled and winked. I needn't have worried about Santa finding his way to us. My dad had met him at the door, just as he had promised.
    The room was beautiful, aglow with Christmas magic. I could feel Santa's strong presence still lingering in the air. Everything I had ever imagined in my fantasy world was true and real. Nothing else could come near to the feeling of absolute wonderment I felt at that very moment.
    Then, I saw something I had not expected — not even in my wildest dreams! An easel with a green chalkboard was propped next to the sofa. My eyes fixed on the board, reading a message printed only for me in colored chalk. “Hope you have a Merry Christmas, Patsy. Love, Santa.”
    â€œHe's real!” I breathed.
    The proof was right there in his printed words. Since my siblings were too young to read, I couldn't prove to them that Santa was real — nor did I realize there was no need to do so. It hadn't dawned on me that none of them had ever questioned or needed the evidence that I had suddenly required. But no more; my questions had all been answered! Caught up in that awesome moment, my faith was completely restored. Only one thing was missing — the sound I'd been listening for. Then there it was! I ran to the window and pressed my face to the pane. Sleigh bells!
    The glistening snow was still falling, but through it I saw what my heart needed to see. High above the darkened streets a faint red light — Santa's sleigh! — was still visible in the early morning sky. I watched as the light faded out of sight, my little heart swollen with the knowledge that Santa really was real, and that my Dad had opened the door for him, just like he'd said he would.

Let There Be Light
    BY EMMARIE LEHNICK

    I ran the one block from school to my house, clutching the Santa cookie I got at my second grade Christmas party. Bounding onto the porch, I opened the front door, yelling, “Mama, I have a surprise!”
    Mama sat in her rocker, making a rag rug in front of the open gas stove. December 1940 marked almost two years since she had been in the tuberculosis sanatorium. I could see by her flushed cheeks that she felt sick again today.
    â€œMama, look at this cookie!” I exclaimed. “My teacher and her mother baked Santa cookies for our party, but I didn't eat mine. I rewrapped it for you to see. When Ludie gets home, we can share it.”
    Mama carefully folded back the wax paper around the six-inch red and