Michael D. Davis.

The holiday season is when memories and tradition reign supreme, from that odd ornament ya made in kindergarten to when you eat Christmas dinner. And every family has their own rules of engagement.

My Ma laid down a rule decades ago that stands today as one of the pillar elements of Christmas time, if you find your present before Christmas day, it goes back. I don’t care if it is a diamond with your face lasered into the jewel, if you find it before Christmas, ya don’t get it. Neither me nor my sister ever actively looked for presents, that I know of, in fear of this ordinance. My Ma is not one for idle threats, and we weren’t about to tempt her.

On Christmas Eve, the family eats a dinner usually made up of meatballs, little weenies, and pizza rolls before opening a single present. Ma used to give me and my sister our Christmas Eve presents in two jumbo gift bags, mine with Scooby Doo on the side, my sister’s with Winnie the Pooh. Ma would do this every year, the bags slowly disintegrating, a tear here, a rip there, folded back up till the following year. Finally, after a decade of use, the bags were retired, not because Ma chose to, she just hasn’t been able to find them.

On Christmas day, I know in other households they do the present exchange all at once, a big lump sum of presents either at the start or the end of the day. Well, we take a different tact, we do one an hour. From whenever we start, nine in the morning or noon, whenever we are all up, we open one present and then set a timer for an hour. We slowly pick off the mountain of presents one at a time every hour until there is only a couple left and we are annoyed and exhausted by our own system. At this point, my Ma usually says something like, “For God’s sake just open the rest of them, we’ll be here all night.”

However, before any of this, in the morning, is the opening of the stocking stuffers, also known as the Santa presents. And these are a beast of their own. Sometimes Santa brings a movie or a book, sometimes he brings batteries and chapstick. And, I’ll have you know that I have written to my share of famous people. Just a few feet away from me now is a letter I received from one of my all-time favorite cartoonists. But the most famous, the most infamous person I have ever received a letter from is Santa himself left in my stocking one Christmas morn.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, Santa doesn’t exist. Well, I don’t believe that. The letter being one piece of evidence, but mainly because of the way my parents explained Santa to me growing up. Whenever I had a question, I was given a logical answer. When I asked, “How is he going to get in, we have no fireplace?” My Ma said, “He’ll use the door, possibly the window.” When I asked why my Mother and Father didn’t get presents from Santa, I was told, “Because Santa only delivers to kids, not adults.” When I once saw my Ma putting out the “Santa presents” herself she told me this, “Santa doesn’t actually deliver a present to every kid in one night because not every kid needs a present from Santa every year. Santa mainly focuses on the kids that wouldn’t usually get presents, those who can’t afford them or what have you. So, I’m doing Santa’s work for him in this house, so that you get a present.”

It was logical. It all makes sense. It made so much sense and has marinated in my mind for so long, that no matter what argument I hear or evidence I see, like bigfoot, the thought that Santa is out there will always exist in my head.

But don’t get me wrong here, Santa isn’t infallible. When I was seven I wanted a stuffed bear, specifically the stuffed bear version of one of the characters from the movie Brother Bear, I wrote Santa about it and everything. That Christmas morning I woke up to find a plush reindeer covered in cloth Christmas lights, like he got all tangled up. And the reindeer was holding an envelope with my name on it.

I opened the envelope to find a letter in red ink from the jolly man himself. He wrote that he did what he could, he’d been to at least three stores, and hadn’t been able to find the bear I wanted, but if I wouldn’t mind watching over his reindeer pal.

Now, I don’t know if you ever or still write to Santa Claus, which is all well and good, but I doubt ya ever got a letter back. Well, I did. We were practically pen pals.