YOU BETTER WATCH OUT!!!

 I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a kid. I  remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big  sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she jeered. "Even  dummies know that!"  My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that day  because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma always told  the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a whole lot easier  when swallowed with one of her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they  were world-famous, because Grandma said so.  It had to be true.  Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told her  everything.  She was ready for me.  "No Santa Claus?" She snorted... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That  rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad!!  Now, put on your coat, and let's go."  "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second  world-famous cinnamon bun.  "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store in town  that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through its  doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars.  That was a bundle in those days.  "Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs it.  I'll wait for you in the car. "Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.  I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my mother, but  never had I shopped for anything all by myself.  The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish  their Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused,  clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth  to buy it for. I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my  neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my church.  I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He  was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in  Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.  Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never went out to  recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note, telling the  teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker  didn't have a cough; he didn't have a good coat. I fingered the  ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!  I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it. It looked real  warm, and he would like that.  "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the counter  asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.  "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."  The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really needed a  good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put the coat in a bag,  smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.  That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag fell out of  the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in Christmas paper and  ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" on it. Grandma said that  Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby  Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and forever  officially, one of Santa's helpers.  Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I crept  noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk.  Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered,  "get going." I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the  present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to the safety of  the bushes and Grandma.  Together we waited breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to  open. Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.  Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent shivering,  beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes.  That night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were  just what Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well,  and we were on his team. I still have the Bible, with the coat tag tucked  inside: $19.95.  May you always have LOVE to share, HEALTH to spare and FRIENDS that  care... And may you always believe in the magic of Santa Claus. Merry Christmas! Blessings & always, Dreamer (aka Dreamz /TwoDreamS)