In memory of my mother, Shirley Russell, and her friend, Harriett Mettille, whose penchant for dramatic red velvet robes kept the magic alive.

Not a year goes by when I don't remember that Christmas Eve in 1967, for it was the events of that night that helped me to believe in the physical reality of Santa Claus far longer than would otherwise have been the case...

I was five years old and we were living in San Juan, Puerto Rico, where my father, a Navy man, was stationed. My parents would decorate  the tree and house to the extent allowable by their limited military budget and nature would lend a hand by turning the poinsettia hedge that lined the yard to scarlet. To get us to go to bed on Christmas Eve, my mother would tell us of the "recon elf," a special elf which Santa would send ahead to make sure little boys and girls were in bed asleep. If the elf reported back to Santa that a child was not in bed asleep, she explained, then Santa would bypass the house in favor of one where the children were in bed asleep. Those children would, of course, get all the toys.

So on this particular night my brother, Steve, and I were in bed well before the elf's arrival, our little minds no doubt full of dreams of what the following morning would bring. Around midnight, however, I awoke with the strong urge to visit the bathroom. Imagine the fear that filled my five-year-old's heart as I lay there in bed, certain that if the elf wasn't in the room at that very moment then he would be arriving any time and discover that I wasn't asleep as I was supposed to be! Time passed oh-so-slowly and I tried desperately to forget my body's increasingly urgent demands and go back to sleep. Finally, however, my fear of disgracing myself overcame my fear of discovery.

Slipping from the bed, I crept quietly from the darkened room and down the hallway. The problem was I would have to get by the doorway into the brightly lit living room to get to the duplex's one bathroom. So far I hadn't seen the elf. What if Santa himself was in the living room at this very moment? Would he get angry with me and repack the toys?

I flattened my body against the wall as I neared the doorway that opened into the living room. My heart pounded in my throat and I couldn't catch my breath! Slowly, carefully I peered around the door frame into the living room and my eyes, already wide with fear, widened still further. Santa had already been there! The tree was ablaze with lights and every manner of toy and wrapped present spilled from beneath its boughs.

My attention at this point was captured by the sound of my parents' voices out on the screened-in porch. They were obviously talking with a visitor, laughing and seeing them out the door. I twisted my body a little further so I could get a better look and saw my father and then my mother standing side by side. Then, to my horror, from between their legs, I caught the swish of a long, red velvet coat!

Instantly, all thoughts of visiting the bathroom vanished as I flew back down the hall to the room I shared with Steve and jumped into bed. I pulled the covers over my head and earnestly prayed that Santa had not seen me spying on him from the hallway door. I hadn't meant to! Would he take the toys back? Would the tree be bare of its splendor in the morning? I finally worried myself back to sleep.

In the morning, Steve woke me up, eager to investigate what surprises Santa had left the night before. I was slow to join him, dreading what we would find. I was still imagining that Santa might have repossessed the bounty I had spied and I was filled with the kind of guilt that only a young child can feel. But no! As I re-entered the living room to the smell of coffee brewing, I found everything just as I had seen it the night before, every toy and wrapped present still in place and my parents sitting, smiling, on the couch as they watched Steve claim his toys. The relief I felt cannot be measured and was soon replaced by awe as I realized what had happened last night. I had seen Santa Claus with my own eyes, talking and laughing with my mom and dad as he left to make his next visit. 

I would eventually confess all to my mother and her confusion would give way to a knowing twinkle that would only be explained when I was much older. For you see, the "Santa" I saw that night was, in actuality, her best friend, Harriett, who had come down to borrow some sugar for cookies she was baking and, with a swish of her red velvet housecoat, helped a young girl to believe in magic a little bit longer.

And as for the recon elf, it continues to bring chuckles to the adults who learn of its existence and anxiety to children who awake too early on Christmas Eve.

c 2016