Homage

The stairs creaked as the little boy sneaked down, waiting for a glimpse, a mere hint of the bowl full of jelly that would signify Christmas, and, more importantly, presents. Daintily, he snuck, more cautious than a fly in a crowded kitchen. For the last two years, Santa had evaded his requests to meet in person, to come face-to-face with the boy who was most certainly his biggest fan. His parents would smile naively, in his mind, trying to convince him that Santa was busy, and that all the children in the world needed their presents before Santa could rest.

But the boy knew that Santa was the best at his job. He could spare a few insignificant minutes to make significance in one boy's life. The boy was thus adamant about Santa's presence on Christmas, and it was on this eventful night that the boy was determined to glimpse at his hero.

And so he crept, ever so slightly, at least in his mind, down the wooden stairs. It was strange, really. All the stairs of his friends' houses weren't wooden. They were carpeted or tiled or surfaced with some form of slick linoleum. He didn't think his stairs should be the only ones that creaked and moaned with the light footsteps of a child, but they did.

But this was no time for petty thought. This was a time of urgency and focus. The boy would meet Santa, if only for a few sparse moments. Thus was the unyielding mindset of a toddler.

The boy, however, was shocked to his panjama-covered toes when he reached the family room. To his utter dismay, the couch was occupied not by his jolly idol, but rather, by his parents. They had all been in the living room earlier that night, his parents and his older sister and himself, to listen to his father read Christmas tales. They were wonderful, of course, stimulating the imagination and whisking away the boy to Yuletide adventures, but they had their time. This was not the time for his parents to be in the family room, keeping warm by the fireplace.

This was everyone's bedtime, and his time to meet Santa. What right did his parents have to tell him to sleep while they stayed up to do whatever it is grown-ups do in front of a fireplace? What right did they have to put him to bed, telling him that Santa would be coming to deliver him a present in the morning when they themselves were not sleeping? What right did his father have to smile at him when he asked these question?

Then, it struck the boy like a lightning bolt strikes a vane: They were up to see Santa too!

"Go back to your room, son. Santa isn't here yet," his father tried to convince him. The boy would not move.

"How come you get to stay up to see Santa?" he asked, undeterred by his father's insistence.

But father was not in the mood to convince him. Mother, always patient, spoke before father made his always-unflattering demands. She smiled as if the boy had said something funny.

"You can stay, sweetie. As long as you keep quiet. You can sleep here with mommy."

The boy thought about it for a moment, but quickly realized that the compromise was a much better alternative to sleeping in his room, where he would surely miss Santa.

And so, his father got off the couch where he was snuggling with his wife to make room for the boy. The toddler laid in his mother's warm arms while his father sat on the armchair, unmoving but smiling quietly.

And of course it did not take long for the child to fall asleep.

But he did not regret it, for the snowy sunrise brought the boy a new present waiting in the stocking. Santa had come and delivered as promised. Before he checked the stocking, however, he paused.

He hadn't seen Santa because he was sleeping. His mother was still in the same position she was when he had fallen asleep, except now draped with a blanket his father surely had provided. She remained in slumber. His father was already up and about, making coffee and checking his email. His older sister came running down the stairs, nearly tripping as she did so. She opened her present before the boy did, and she was delighted. So was he, and he forgot about his goal for the night before.

His mother woke up from the delighted giggles of his sister, and his father joined the family around the fireplace. Upon the boy's inquiries about Santa's visit, his father just smiled and handed him another present to unwrap, easily averting any thought of Santa.

His mother and father shared another knowing smile.

To the boy, Santa didn't matter anymore. He was only a part of Christmas, now. The presents had to be unwrapped. Breakfast had to be served. His family had to be together. The snow had to fall, and Christmas traditions still had yet to be carried out.

Plus, he could always try again next Christmas. At least, if Santa still existed then.