Heartwarming stories you can send to your mother-in-law
Adventure With Grandma
I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma. I was just a
kid. I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the
day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus," she
jeered. "Even dummies know that!" My Grandma was not the gushy kind,
never had been. I fled to her that day because I knew she would be
straight with me. I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew
that the truth always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with
one of her world-famous cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous,
because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told
her everything. She was ready for me.
"No Santa Claus!" she snorted. "Ridiculous! Don't believe it. That
rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain
mad. Now, put on your coat, and let's go."
"Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my second
world-famous, cinnamon bun. "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General
Store, the one store in town that had a little bit of just about
everything. As we walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten
dollars. That was a bundle in those days.
"Take this money," she said, "and buy something for someone who needs
it. I'll wait for you in the car." Then she turned and walked out of
Kerby's. I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my
mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store
seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their
Christmas shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused,
clutching that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on
earth to buy it for.
I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors,
the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just
about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby Decker. He was a
kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs.
Pollock's grade-two class. Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew
that because he never went out for recess during the winter. His
mother always wrote a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough,
but all we kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough, and he
didn't have a coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing
I would buy Bobby Decker a coat! I settled on a red corduroy one that
had a hood to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that. "Is
this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind he counter
asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down. "Yes," I replied shyly.
"It's .... for Bobby." The nice lady smiled at me. I didn't get any
change, but she put the coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.
That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and
ribbons (a little tag fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in
her Bible) and wrote on the package, "To Bobby, From Santa Claus" --
Grandma said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me
over to Bobby Decker's house, explaining as we went that I was now and
forever officially one of Santa's helpers.
Grandma parked down the street from Bobby's house, and she and I
crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk Then
Grandma gave me a nudge. "All right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get
I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present
down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of
the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the
darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood
Bobby. Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent
shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That night, I
realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what
Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we
were on his team.
I still have the Bible, with the tag tucked inside: 19.95.
Matt Farr, Centennial, Colorado | Webmaster: TLCA.org
1996 FZJ80 · TLCA #4189 · WØRDY
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