An old grey wool sock, one of those with the red and white stripe at the top, was my Santa Stocking. Sometimes it even had a hole in it. It didn’t matter, it was big. My Dad’s feet were big, he was big.

I remember so clearly reaching down to the end of my bed to feel if it had been filled. Lightly touching a now full stocking.

We weren’t allowed to get up if it was still dark. So this had to be done very quietly as to not wake my sister. Always a paper wrapped mandarin orange in the toe, a special treat then. Walnuts, hazelnuts, crunching noises in the dark as I looked with my hands. A toy, a book of lifesavers, and gold chocolate coins — still makes my heart beat with joy.

Our stockings were always placed at the end of our beds. Many years later, with my own children, we followed this tradition. A grey work sock placed at the end of their beds. Until one Christmas, our youngest, I believe he was around 3, declared on Christmas Eve, “I don’t want that hairy, old guy coming into my room!” Years of tradition came to an instant halt. To the living room they went. Our other children were in line with this new tradition. He had thought about it and it was ok with Santa coming, just not into his room!

I still laugh when I think of that Christmas Eve.

Always reminding me, sometimes change to a tradition makes it better.

Remember to put your stocking out.

Love,
Jane

 

 

Photo (with thanks) by Sincerely Media on Unsplash