Sunday, 1 November 2009

Santa's foot

Many years ago, when I should have been wrapped up in the warmth of my duvet, I saw Santa's foot! On Christmas eve, my sister and I reluctantly went to bed, desperate for Christmas day to arrive. I lay in bed and waited for sleep to take hold but it failed to arrive. Sometime later, I heard a noise downstairs. Adulthood would have translated this sound into something sinister but childhood excitement and curiosity convinced me that I could hear Santa delivering our presents! I knew I shouldn't but I broke the long-established rule of staying in bed the night before Christmas (because seeing Santa was not allowed). I nervously climbed out of bed, crept to the top of the stairs and peered down. Just as I did so, I saw a big black booted foot! Before the foot owner appeared, I ran back to my bed and leapt into it, I pulled the duvet over my head and pretended to be asleep. I didn't want Santa to know that I'd seen his foot, just in case this meant that my presents were returned to Lapland. When Christmas day arrived, Hayley and I ran downstairs, then settled ourselves in front of our pile of presents. I don't know what presents I got that year but I do remember smiling at the memory of Santa's foot. Thank goodness that Santa didn't realise that I'd seen his foot.

This wonderful memory (which I now realise must have been a dream or one of my parents taking their role as Santa rather too seriously) really added to the magic of Christmas. So much so, that when school friends told me Santa wasn't real, I refused to believe them because I'd seen Santa's foot. I still retain some of that childlike sense of wonder about the world. You'll be relieved to know that I no longer believe in Father Christmas but I do believe in the magic of Christmas. Despite tragic things affecting me and people that I love, I believe the world is a magical place. It's just a question of noticing it.



  1. I think this could explain the big difference between me and you and how we view the world, Hazel. When I was a little girl I was woken up late on Christmas eve by a noise. I opened my eyes to see my dad's bare arse at the bottom of the bed as he bent down, naked, to leave my Christmas stocking there - bit hard to believe in santa and magic after that!

  2. This is not the kind of Xmas memories that you wanna have! Bare bums and Xmas are a bad mix, as I discovered in later life - when getting up on Xmas day was the last thing I wanted to do, with a hangover and crazy memories from Xmas eve festivities!



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