Every year my house as a kid was visited by elves. The sneaky Santa helpers would leave tokens, gifts, candies, and oral hygiene treasures in our homemade stockings, the 12 days leading up to Christmas.
The highlight of any cold December morning would be to reach my grubby little hands into my stocking and pull out the delivered bounty.
One gift per day would be the norm. However, sometimes the elves would belost in a blizzard, slept-in, or just down right forgetful and our stockings would be bare. This tragic occurrence would be promptly echoed in the house, as all five of us kids would voice our let down to our loving parents. Double gifts would find their way into our empty stockings the next day, a king’s loot, and joy would be established once more.
This tradition has remained forever endeared in my heart. When first married, I tried to surprise my husband with such elfish tokens. Jerky, chips, soda, all made their loving way into his stocking, mine, however, remained bare. Sadness, and self-present-giving soon replaced tradition. Bahumbug!
With luck and joyous renew, the arrival of my first born, Christian, the elves have found their way through the blizzard and gifts will be given once more. Hazaah!
I am excited to start this tradition with my babe, for many Christmas’ to come. Merry Christmas!
Candace's humorous short story, Train Station: 3:00 p.m. can be found in the Beginnings anthology.
Stephanie N. Pitman, Author
The written word is magical...
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