FN Blog - Seven heads are better than one!

It was Christmas Eve and my family had just come from mass. As our car pulled up to the garage, I was extremely giddy—I was certain that Santa had dropped by while we were out. It was, after all, the best time for him to swing by without being seen.

The anticipation had been building on the days leading up to this night, the night when no five-year-old could even think about sleeping. It was way past my bedtime, but I was wide awake, excitement coursing through my veins. I jumped out of the car and rushed into the house—only to find a Christmas tree, ablaze with lights…but with absolutely nothing underneath.

To a kindergarten-age kid, this was heartbreak. Was I to agonize until the next morning? Did Santa happen to forget about me? Had I not been nice enough that year?

As I sat in the living room, dejectedly looking at the empty space beneath the tree, my dad called out to me, gesturing with his hand. “Halika,” he said. We went to my parents’ room, where he promptly stood by the window overlooking the garage. I stood beside him wondering what was up, most of my attention still focused on my disappointment.

“Ano ‘yun?” my dad asked, pointing to a barely visible lump on the roof. It was almost too dark to make out, a large, shapeless mass barely visible under the moonlight. I peered a little closer—could it be? On the roof? We didn’t have a chimney after all…

We hurried through the passageway in my parents’ bedroom and made it onto the garage roof. There, lying innocently in the shadows, was a huge bag filled with Christmas presents!

I was quite convinced that my dad had placed the gifts there, that Santa had nothing to do with it. But my dad insisted that this wasn’t his doing. My happiness was magnified—just when I thought this would be one horrible Christmas, Santa dropped my gifts off at one of the weirdest places possible.

I don’t even remember what I got that year—perhaps it was that toy train (which I could actually ride), or that huge doll that I had with me for years (and on whose hair I learned how to braid). What I do remember is that on that night, my dad wanted to make sure that I didn’t lose faith, that I kept the beautiful belief in Santa Claus.