Yes, there is a Santa Claus … and we've met him!

I was five when my brother took me to the firehouse to see Santa Claus, who, unbeknownst to me then, was actually my father.

Later, when I got home, I excitedly told my mother that Santa had boots just like Dad’s!

She smiled. Then I added, “And he had lots of women come sit on his lap too.”

There went the smile. – Dianna Reed

We immigrated to America from China when I was six. Because I was shy and didn’t speak English, I had few friends. My days were spent at home with my brother. Sometimes we’d help our neighbour Mr. Mueller pull weeds.

One Christmas Day, there was a knock at the door. Grandma opened it, and there stood a big fellow in red with a snow-white beard, laughing, “Ho, ho, ho!”

He handed out presents and made us laugh. I had so much fun.

It was years later when I learned that our special Santa was our neighbour Mr. Mueller. – Joanne Tang

It was Christmas Eve, and our three-year-old son was wired. “You need to go to bed right away,” my husband told him, “because Santa will look in your window to make sure you’re asleep before he leaves presents.”

Suddenly, our son’s eyes grew big, and his voice quavered as he shrieked, “I don’t want the big, scary man with the beard looking in my window!”

Needless to say, we were up very, very late that Christmas Eve with our son in bed between us. – Michelle Rodenburg

My nearly nearly two-year-old granddaughter was reluctant to meet Santa Claus for the first time. Nevertheless, she patiently sat on his lap and waited while we took picture after picture.

Finally, having had enough, she figured a way out of her predicament.

She turned to Santa and stated, “I pooped.”

With that, Santa said, “She’s done,” lifted her up, and handed her back to her mother. – Ruth Turner

While I was president of a state college in New York, I came home from work one December day and drove my five-year-old son, Brett, to Santa’s village.

Brett was nervous but excited and had a long wish list of toys clutched in his hand. When it was our turn, we approached the great man seated in his big chair.

That was when Santa, who turned out to be a student at my college, stood up, extended his hand, and said, “Dr. Andersen. This is an unexpected pleasure!”

Brett dropped his list, stared at me with astonishment, and said, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Santa?” – Roger Anderson

I’d been hired to appear at a church dressed as Santa. But traffic was so bad, my elves and I were late.

When we finally arrived, we were met with scowls from the annoyed parishioners.

Suddenly, the angry silence was pierced by a shout: “Santa!”

A small four-year-old girl came running from the other side of the room and leaped into my arms.

“Oh, Santa,” she breathlessly cried out, “I love you!”

That turned the scowls into smiles. – Duncan Fife

It was December 1935, during the Depression. Although she was a single mother of three with little money, Mum never turned away any hungry person who came to our door.

One day, she welcomed in a man with white hair and a great white beard. While she fixed him a meal, he asked me in the kindest way, “What do you want for Christmas?”

“Skates,” I quickly replied.

“You’ll get them,” he assured me. I was elated. Not so my mother – she couldn’t afford them.

Christmas morning came, and there were no skates under the tree. Mother tried to explain that I wouldn’t be getting them, but I knew differently. I ran to the front door and threw it open, and there on the porch was a pair of skates.

My mother later told me that a family friend had left them there for me. But I know it was Santa. – Ziza Bivens

Several years ago, after numerous fertility-drug treatments, I became pregnant. Six months later, we lost the baby.

My husband and I were devastated. A few years and tears later, we tried another round of treatments. But after many months of futility, my wonderful husband said, “Neither one of us can take this much longer. So let’s agree, if after this last treatment we do not get pregnant, we’ll do something crazy like purchase a 1967 candy-apple-red Corvette and enjoy our lives as is.”

I agreed.

Lo and behold, we finally had our bouncing baby boy. A few months later, we were at the mall, snapping photos of Santa holding him.

As Santa handed our son back, he shocked us both by saying, “It’s a lot better than a Corvette, no?” – Annemarie Wenner

Funds were tight for my friend Jo and her husband. But Tinker, Jo’s five-year-old son, was convinced that since he’d been good all year, Santa would bring him a bike. And not just any bike, but a rare yellow one.

“Don’t worry, Mum,” he said. “He’ll bring it.”

Jo’s sister and her five-year-old son lived with Jo, and as it happened that little boy was getting a red bike. On Christmas Eve, I told my mother the story of Tinker and the yellow bike.

“You can’t let that happen!” She said. “That little boy won’t understand why Santa brought his cousin a new bike and not him!”

Mum handed me a pile of bills. “Take this, and get him that bike.”

By now it was late, and most stores were closed. I called the only place I knew that sold bikes. A man answered. I asked if he had any boys’ bikes left.

“Only one,” he said. Then he added apologetically, “But it’s yellow.” – Carole Martinez

By the time I was seven, my parents had been divorced three years. Still, when we woke up that Christmas morning, Daddy was there.

My little sister and I were told there was a gift from Santa waiting for us outside. We sprinted out the door, and there it was, a beautiful white playhouse complete with a front porch.

Inside, it was furnished with a table and two chairs, a small baby cradle with two dolls and a kitchen area with dishes. Daddy had constructed it, while Mother bought the furniture and made curtains.

We spent the morning eating breakfast in our little white playhouse with Mother and Daddy.

Even though our parents were no longer together, we knew they would always be “together” for their girls. And they were. – Sharon Smitherman