Listening for voices from the Christmas party downstairs, we tip-toed upstairs to our parent’s bedroom. “Look,” he whispered.
I’m devastated. It’s Uncle Wayne.
The line is a mile long for Santa and his elves the next morning at the Mall. I looked down at my shoe, stalling. My Mom could tell something was wrong. Not sure what to say I blurted out “I’m too old for Santa Claus!”
So, she sat on his lap instead and read off her long list of goods.