BURT'S FAVORITE CHRISTMAS MEMORY

When you’re six years old, you look forward to Christmas – unless of course you’re me. Every kid loves this time of year. And as a child, we all know the drill. Santa Claus knows if you’ve been bad or good. And all the good boys and girls get presents. If you’re to believe the rumors, the bad kids get… not so much.

Well that year, I had been bad. For those who knew me as a child, you might recall that I was a “highly spirited” little kid. And by that I mean I got into quite a bit of trouble. My childhood reign of terror started that year. I was a pretty well-behaved kid in kindergarten. But during the summer after, a new kid named Carl moved into the neighborhood. Carl became my best friend. Carl was also smart, cocky, and unafraid to talk back to adults. He thumbed his nose at authority. I loved him! He was quite an influence on me. That September, at age six, Carl and I trashed a neighbor’s car. My rebellious nature was born.

So as Christmas approached, I was scared. The car incident was the pinnacle of my bad behavior that year. And even though Carl and I had gotten away with it, I knew that Santa was always watching. And he no doubt saw all the other bad things I’d done as well. I was doomed. I was getting nothing that year – save for maybe coal. It was an awful feeling.

Well on Christmas Eve I went to bed fearing the worst. I probably fretted myself into a state of insomnia. But eventually I fell asleep. Then about 3:00 in the morning I suddenly woke up. The house was completely silent. So I quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. Our downstairs hallway had a side door that opened into the living room. I carefully turned the knob and peered inside. Although it was dark, the moonlight shone through the windows casting a magical glow over some Christmas presents – and more Christmas presents – and more, and more, and more, and more. There were presents everywhere! Instantly my fear of the unknown was overtaken by a warm, happy calm. I had pulled it off!

I closed the door and silently crept back up the stairs to my bedroom. As I was walking, a giant smile came over me. And I whispered to myself, “I can do ANYTHING!” What’s the moral of this story? Well… none really. But MERRY CHRISTMAS!