Dear Readers,

Once upon a time, a family lived in the west side of a little double house. On Christmas Eve, two little boys, ages five and seven, were finally put to bed around 10 p.m.

Then the work began. For in this little house, the family tradition was that Ole Santa always brought the presents and the decorated Christmas tree to each house. He would slide down the chimney, wiggle around the damper, and somehow deliver the tree, decorated it with tinsel, strings of lights and dangling ornaments. 

Then he would dig into his satchel and pulled out the presents that were already wrapped and tagged and decorated with ribbons with curly bows. And he spread the presents under the tree, grabbed a decorated cookie and leaped up the chimney and on to the next house.

It was a nice tradition. But like a lot of traditions, it involved a bit more than Santa and the chimney and the tree and presents.

Yes, you guessed the truth. Mother had purchased the presents with money she had saved all year long. Dad went out and bought the tree. Then he conned a friend at work to bring the truck to the tree lot and deliver it to the west side of the little double house.

Then, on Christmas Eve, they somehow convinced the two little boys to go to bed. It was no mean feat, for their heads were spinning from the ads in the “wish books” that came in the mail from Sears and other stores.

Well, it was around 11 p.m. by the time the upstairs hall no longer echoed with giggles from the little boys' bedroom. The coast was clear. It was time for Santa to work.

Dad went to the garage where he had stashed the tree. He cut a couple inches off the bottom, sawed away the bottom branches and brought the tree into the house. There he put it in a stand and stood it up. 

For the record, it leaned a bit. Although mother suggested he tie it to the mantle, he knew better and was in a hurry.

Mother didn’t think the suggestion was worth a family squabble on Christmas Eve, so she didn’t press the issue. They both worked together to string the lights on, carefully put tinsel on the boughs and brought out the ornaments. 

Some of the ornaments were precious family heirlooms carefully wrapped in cotton and kept inside cardboard boxes. They were fixed to the ends of the branches.

It must have been 2:30 a.m. when the couple finished their task. They turned off the living room lights, lit the Christmas tree, and sat down to a cup of hot cocoa and a couple of cookies. 

By 3 a.m. or so, two exhausted parents hit the sack. The Sandman came calling a few minutes later and they were fast asleep.

About a half hour later, two very excited little boys woke up, if they had been asleep at all.  Both of them worked very hard to keep from giggling as they tiptoed down the stairs and headed right for the tree.

As you might expect, the little tree was once again leaning, in fact it had fallen over on the corner of the mantle and a few ornaments had slipped off, sprinkling the white sheet with sparkling shards of glass from the precious family treasurers. 

The boys dove into the presents, picked through the tags and began ripping off the wrapping paper until they found the motherload. 

There were two sets of cap guns complete with fringed leather holsters. There were no caps, but that didn’t stop the two little boys from doing an impersonation of Roy Rogers and Hopalong Cassidy.  They hid behind the piano bench, chased each other around the coffee table and made enough noise to wake the parents.

Two sleepy, very sleepy, parents came down stairs in pajamas and slippers. They saw the two boys had destroyed the placid scene beneath the Christmas tree. Most of all, the tree was now leaning on its side.

Father got a bit testy. He had carefully set it up, and just as carefully ignored the suggestion that he tie it up to the mantle. Mother was near tears when she saw the precious family heirloom ornaments shattered.

Then the two little boys piped up in unison. “Santa came. He did. Look, He left us presents. He brought the tree and look, he even ate some of the cookies. Mommy, Daddy, Santa came. It is Christmas.”

The two grownups stood still for a moment looking at two smiling little boys with cap guns strapped over their matching footie-pajamas. 

Suddenly Dad smiled. He reached down and stood up the tree and asked the 7-year-old to go into the kitchen and bring him the ball of kite string. The mother, a grin on her face, knelt down as the 5-year-old brought her the dust pan and the hand brush. He helped her sweep up the glittering shards of glass. 

It took a couple of minutes to complete the chores. Then the father turned off the living room lights, turned on the sparkling tree lights, and sat down on the couch next to his wife. The 7-year-old crawled up in his lap, as the little one walked to the piano bench and picked up the plate of cookies.

“Have a cookie Mommy. It is Christmas … it is Christmas.”