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Neither paper, nor sticky tape, kept Santa from appointed round

By Nancy Evins

The starlings posed a problem even back then. It was late fall and they kept settling in the chimney of the fireplace that opened out into our living room. My father was a banker in a small town near Knoxville, Tennessee, and not particularly equipped for manual chores that involved patience, a modicum of skill, and a lot of brown paper. After several of those pesky blackbirds flew amok in our living room, Dad, with quite a bit of mutterings (he was a Baptist so these mutterings never got beyond the minor stages), finally managed to seal the fireplace with lots of sticky tape and paper.



It did not add a lot to the decor of the room; still, it solved the problem caused by the starlings.

Now, I was a child of six at the time and becoming jaded in my beliefs about Christmas in general and Santa Claus in particular.

A few weeks earlier I had been taken to visit Santa who was sitting in a department store, on top of a ramp with a little speaker in his ear. The man who greeted me at the bottom of the ramp learned my name and passed it along to the man in red at the top.

I was not impressed.

After all, he'd been remembering not only my name but the list that went with it for over five years. So what was so miraculous about hearing him bellow a "Ho, ho, ho, here's little Nancy" as I warily approached to perch on his rayon velvet knee.

But to continue the tale:

"'Twas the night before Christmas," this story could begin and this unsleepy toddler had been put to bed, everyone hoping I'd drift into the long winter's nap.

The stocking (I was an only child) was hung by the enclosed chimney with care when it dawned on my father, not in his nightcap, that St. Nicholas was going to have one heck of a time getting in. Worse than that, his little daughter was going to have an even more difficult time believing that the hefty gentleman decided to come through the front door for a change.

"This just kills me to do this," my mother said he exclaimed.

And with that, he punched a hole through the paper wall.

My eyes must have been wide with wonder the next morning when I saw where Santa had torn through to deliver packages to me! A huge hole just to get to me! It never occurred to me, of course, that my father had anything to do with it.

I've long forgotten the gifts I received that year but I'll never forget that sight. My trust in Santa had been rekindled.

It was years before I heard the true story, but nothing was diminished. It was even more wondrous. My faith in the Spirit of Christmas remained and always will.

Nancy Alley Evins
Clinical Hypnotherapist
2200 21st Avenue S.
Nashville, Tn 37212
(615) 383-3203


This story was posted on 2010-12-05 07:01:51
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