I can remember back to when I was, oh, 3 or 4 years of age and my most favourite thing in the entire world was my Santa. Santa was a gift from my parents to me and we were best friends. He kept me company and wherever I went, he went. He was my security blanket, my companion in imaginary adventures, my teddy bear, my link to my mom in her absence.
I’ve kept Santa all these years, often hidden granted. This year when my folks asked what I wanted for Christmas I said it would be great if Santa could somehow be restored. My mom has kindly taken on the challenge and Santa is heading à Londres with me on a holiday which, I hope, will rescue him from the ravages a near half century of time in my possession has wrought.
I know, no matter how his journey turns out, his spirit will remain as true and honest and kind and optimistic as ever. And I know the warm memories he brings me of Christmases past when everyone seemed so much taller than me shall survive his transformation, and that he will remain, my best friend.