Christmas Eve

I can remember climbing into bed with the excitement of knowing that Christmas was the next day. Sleep was next to impossible. I was pretty sure Santa would come, but I was never 100% certain. There was always that slim chance that some minor offense that I had (allegedly) committed earlier in the year would come back to haunt me. My siblings apparently felt duty bound to remind me of any infraction, no matter how small, and how it was going to affect the possibility of Santa even showing up. They made it pretty clear that I was probably screwed and it would be a miracle if I got anything. But I knew that Santa understood. At least, I was pretty sure... not the “I'd stake my life on it” kind of sure, but I'd certainly stake any of my siblings lives on it.

On Christmas Eve, we would sit around the living room listening to Christmas carols with only the lights of the tree lighting the room- throwing shadows on the walls and ceiling. There would already be a couple of presents for each of us under the tree that had arrived in the mail from our aunt and grandmother. We spent the better part of the night begging to open "just one" present before bedtime. Mom and Dad would finally relent, and afterward they would try to calm us all down and herd us into our beds. After the “good-nights” and back scratches, I would lay there, and struggle to sleep. I had been told previously that staying awake could be a contributing factor to Santa not showing up. But I couldn’t stop myself from listening and hoping and waiting. Next to my bed was a window and I would stare out past the pine tree weighted down with snow, past the park and past the neighbor’s house across the way, looking for some movement as I would drift in and out of sleep.

As the night wore on, I would have to get up and go to the bathroom. This was always a scary proposition at night. Our bathroom was down the hall and across from a long set of stairs that descended into darkness below. If I was stupid enough to look down the stairway on any normal night, I knew I would see an ax murderer staring back up at me from the darkness, cleverly waiting patiently for his chance to get me. I would have to dash into the bathroom and then back into bed and under the covers as fast as I could go.

But on Christmas Eve, I would stare down the stairs and wonder, was the living room empty? Or had Santa come and gone. And if he had come, did he leave any presents? ...Any for me? I stood there and listened but I couldn’t hear anything except the clock ticking in the dining room. I wasn't brave enough to go down and look. I headed back to my room more nervous than before.

Climbing back into bed, I would resume the battle to get to sleep. The silence was so still it was overwhelming. I was never up this late and it was a little creepy. I tried to relax but sleep seemed impossible. Would Santa come? Would he leave me anything? Surely I couldn't have been all that bad. It’s not like I killed someone or anything...

As the night ground on I continued to drift. In the pre-predawn hours I would once again open my eyes and try to get my bearings. I would look out my window for any sign of tracks in the snow. I listened for any movement downstairs and heard nothing but the clock. That’s when I noticed that on my night stand there were a couple of candies. Santa had come! At some point when I was asleep, somehow he snuck in and looked in on me and he left me a couple of candies. All my worries about whether he would even bother were now replaced by even more excitement... and relief . A decent hour to get up and meet in Steve's room was still a ways away, but I could wait... barely.

Every Christmas, the candy on my table always let me know that Christmas really was here and that as busy as Santa was, he had taken the time to look in on me.

Santa doesn't leave chocolates on my table anymore but he does for my kids. And even though so many years have passed, on Christmas Eve when all is finally quiet and stockings are stuffed and presents are under the tree and the candy is left on night stands, I lay in bed for a few minutes and listen to the silence and I still feel the same excitement. And I hope that my kids have experienced the same feelings: the anticipation and the excitement that someone, who doesn't have to, thinks they're special.