Santa Claus is real. And he somehow fits in that 6-inch diameter of a chimney in our beloved (and cramped) kitchen in Chinatown. Teachers wouldn't lie to us...
Waiting for Christmas morning was always a delight growing up. Even better than Saturday morning cartoons. A torment for my parents really because it was a whole lot of tossing and turning and no sleep whatsoever the night before. And somehow, my mom would secretly lay out a few gift-wrapped presents in the living room next door during my tossing and turning escapades.
And when the clock struck 6, it'd be a silent and mad scramble out of bed, slowly tip-toeing loud as can be across the rickety wooden planks into the room next door.
And plop on top of the coffee table would lay a perfectly wrapped present. Blue was mine. Red for Diana. The glee on that kid's face...boy, I wish I could go back to that Christmas day.
And as we grew up, I realized we used to get most of our gifts from the local fire department but on occasion, Mom would buy us our favorite Sanrio gift items (of course, they were always related to education).