There are pictures, of me, meeting Santa Claus.
I am screaming my lungs out.
Mind you, I was a little over one year old.
My favorite Santa Claus memory has more to do with a friend of mine and her family. Every year, she would have her two children leave cookies and milk for Santa before going to bed, like all good children do. In the morning, the milk would be half gone and the cookies reduced to crumbs. There were sooty footprints from the fireplace to the tree where presents would have magically appeared overnight. Reindeer prints were made in the backyard, if snow was back there.
But the best part of all? Santa would leave a note for the little ones.
The look on their faces when the note was read was worth every bit of getting up at 5 a.m. to be there with them when they got up. When they were younger, they were shocked at how Santa knew about achievements from the past year, as well as squabbles that had taken place between the two of them. He always left instructions for the year to come, as well.
Ok, so maybe I misjudged Santa when I met him. He sounds like a pretty good guy to me.