When I was a child, we had a very special Christmas book at our home. I believe it was my mother's grandmother's book - though that could be wrong.
Each December my mother would place it on the coffee table. It was tattered and lovingly used. Pages wrinkled. Some torn. Some even scribbled upon with crayons.
Early on my mother would read to me from the book but as I grew older, several times over the holiday I would page through the book. Remembering the verses, pictures and treasures that were tucked away.
One of the pages contained a "poem". I recall as a young girl that my mother could recite that poem verbatim. And she did several times during the course of my childhood.
Today while I was cleaning and busy scurrying about my home preparing for Christmas - I thought of that poem. It was one of those things that I consider a Christmas tradition.
I am certain my mother still has the book. And over the course of the years, I have shared that poem with my children - as somehow I magically memorized it myself. That poem is engrained within me.
This morning I "googled" that poem. And I found that in our infinite space of the internet I could not find it.
I thought how sad that it was. That my childhood magic lived in the pages of that one book.
Should something ever happen to me, my mother or that book - how would my grandchildren or great grandchildren hear it?
So today - I will share it with you while preserving the memory for my children.
Merry Christmas. xoxo
The Boy Who Scoffed At Santa Claus
By William Wallace Whitelock
"I don’t believe in Santa Claus,
There ain’t no such a man!
It’s all a fairy tale, because
I know from Cousin Dan"—
‘Twas thus spoke Henry Lucius Stout,
A boy aged eight I knew,
His mother said, "You’d best watch out
You’re standin’ near the flue."
Now, Santa happened just to be
Upon the roof, right pat,
A-peekin’ down if he could see
What Lucius Stout was at.
He heard those words with angry frown
And up and shook his head,
And took his book and wrote ‘em down
Exactly what he said.
When Christmas mornin’ came around,
And Lucius ran to see
What he had got, alas! he found
His stockin’ quite empty,
Except a note that he pulled out
Instead of some fine toy:
"I don’t believe in Lucius Stout
There ain’t no such a boy!"
P.S. I love you, Mom. No kid ever had a more magical Christmastime than me. Thank you for all that you did. My memories are priceless. xoxo