Giving Santa the Sack
Lying in bed, trying to keep your eyes and ears open for the noise of reindeer and the falling of soot coming down the chimney, a sense of excitement known later on in life as butterflies. You've written a letter, left some food and drink for Rudolph and his friends. More importantly you've spent the last three hundred and sixty five days being as good a boy as you could possibly be and this was your just reward. You'd succumb finally, but your sleep would be shallow, the slightest creak or squeak and you'd awake again, alert and ready to catch the man with the beard and his sack full of toys. You'd prepared your questions and readied your shoes just in case he asked you to come along with him, just like in the movie. But you realise it was nothing, your baby sister shuffling in the room next door. Back again, into the land of fitful dreams only to wake at the first signs of dawn. Living in town there was no cock crowing but you'd sit staring at the alarm ...