The fourteen Murray kids were a novelty whenever they moved into a new neighborhood. Curious things happened.
On Christmas Eve 1968, in Pennsylvania, the little kids sat holding newly unwrapped, colorful, woolen mittens. “Santa” had arrived through the back door.
Dad answered the front door. “Well, Santa’s twin! Oops!”
“Santa One” looked startled and dodged out the back door.
“Santa Two” jumped back caught like he had been breaking in.
Confused, five-year-old Virginia pretty much summed up the curious scene: “Holy nuts, Dad. The dogs are chasing ANOTHER Santa down the street.”
“Yes, Virginia, sometimes there are three Santa Clauses.”
On Christmas Eve 1968, in Pennsylvania, the little kids sat holding newly unwrapped, colorful, woolen mittens. “Santa” had arrived through the back door.
Dad answered the front door. “Well, Santa’s twin! Oops!”
“Santa One” looked startled and dodged out the back door.
“Santa Two” jumped back caught like he had been breaking in.
Confused, five-year-old Virginia pretty much summed up the curious scene: “Holy nuts, Dad. The dogs are chasing ANOTHER Santa down the street.”
“Yes, Virginia, sometimes there are three Santa Clauses.”
