SANTA STORIES

I've been having one of those day. You know the kind I mean. The one where you're so tired it hurts to think and then when you do try to articulate, everything comes out so jumbled.

I'm trying to put my Toastmaster speech together for next week. I decided to call it "Santa Stories," but to me it doesn't seem to gel.

Remember Santa? That wonderful mystery guy who came down your chimney to leave you presents and you left him cookies and milk. I do.

I remember one Christmas in particular. I really didn't believe in the myth of Santa Clause, but I wasn't ready to give up the stocking thing yet either. It was after my grandpa had died and as traditions go, I would spend Christmas Eve at my grandmother's house. That way, I could help her set up for Christmas Day company. My stocking was hung on the fireplace screen and Santa would visit me there.

On this particular Christmas Morning, I descended the stairs to find that Santa had left me a package wrapped in tissue paper and balanced on two of the sides of the screen. I unwrapped it with excitement, but I re-wrapped it with disdain. Then, I returned to my bed and climbed under the covers. The Santa excitement was gone.

So, you ask, what was in the tissue paper? My grandmother had been cleaning the basement that December and had unearthed an old doll that I hadn't played with for at least five years. She had thought it would be a wonderful present from Santa to re-gift the doll, sans clothes except for the ones she had painted on her. I wasn't impressed with Santa's gift.

At that point in time, I wasn't old enough to see that my grandma meant well. In time I came to realize that it isn't the actual gift that has meaning, but the intent with which the gift is given that speaks volumes.