My parents have portrayed Santa and Mrs. Claus for many years. The idea he and my mother have been awake all night delivering presents and traveling the US in an open sleigh is important to enjoying this memory.

My Grandmother passed away just before Thanksgiving, so this year will be the first time we do not do this

I drive to my parents house far to early Christmas morning. Gathering my parents, and youngest sibling we travel to my Grandmothers nursing home. Nana would introduce him to all her friends as Santa, Mrs. Santa, and a few of the elves. Remind her female friends, she was far older than they, as she had given birth to Santa. Children pulled from under the tree to visit relatives would have a chance to thank Santa for their presents, or discuss why they did not get what they asked for. Soon my aunt and uncles would show up, along with cousins and their own children. Gifts would be exchanged, nursing home guests who were alone would be invited to join us for breakfast.

Over coffee my parents will tell stories of their exciting night, the tree the reindeer almost hit. The house where the chimney had not been cleaned since the last time he slid down. Children we had never meet before, and might never see again sat in rapt attention to Santa telling them of his adventures. My siblings and I would argue over who had to clean the reindeer stables, and wash the harnesses. (family legend states flying reindeer have flying poop - well it more floats) Finally around 10, am my Grandmother would tire and ask to be returned to her room. We would all wish the rest of the family, and the ones who joined just for the day a wonderful holiday.

Traveling next to my sisters house we will eat far to much ham, multiple servings of pie, and a gallon of egg nog each. Presents will be exchanged, pictures will be taken. Memories will be made.

Then my mother will announce the sleigh needs to be clean and the reindeer brushed. The table will be cleared, the dishes done. And family will return back to their own homes, with a full stomach, and happy memories.

Jan Dumas - Revere