A Bag Full of Favorite Childhood Christmas Memories

Only an idiot child would think that Santa went and left his whole bag of gifts under the tree, but there I was giggling in the darkness at my apparent windfall. I was seven years old, and it was Christmas eve. I crept out of bed, long after I should have been dancing with sugar-plums, and made my way through the dark stillness to the living room.

I have always been a bit impatient, and the anticipation of Christmas morning turned a young, impetuous boy into a neurotic insomniac. I had to know what awaited me under the yule tree, but I was neither brave or smart enough to take a flashlight with me. So, I bumbled along like a drunken elf towards the gifts, so caught up in my own excitement and glee that I never considered the fact that I was waking the whole house with my bumps and crashes. I finally found myself at the Christmas tree, and I crawled around on the floor feeling for any truck, ball, bat, or other prize that I might have had on my list that year. That is when I found it - the bag.

I nearly screamed; in fact, I am pretty sure that I let out a small yelp. There on the floor was a large, smooth bag stuffed with loot from St. Nick. It was so full that my entire weight would barley budge it, and it pressed back against me begging for me to rip it open and explore the bounty inside. Frantically, I scurried around searching for the opening ribbons that I remembered seeing in the photos and paintings of Santa Claus. I knocked over a pile of gifts, dropped a blown glass bulb on the floor, and knocked over a pile of books on the coffee table. I had shattered my illusion of stealth, but I didn't care because I had stumbled onto the mother-load.

My ruckus was so loud that I didn't hear the footsteps behind me; I had awoken my parents. The light flashed on behind me, and I panicked. I was caught red handed, and I immediately feared that I would magically pop onto Santa's "naughty" list, and he would swing down the chimney to take back his sack of goodies. The thought broke my heart, and I slumped down onto the floor and hugged my bag of toys as tightly as I could. My little seven year old arms could barely wrap themselves around it, and I wasn't about to give it up. My parents were holding hands in the hallway, and they smiled knowingly in unison as they looked down on me.

"Looks like Santa brought you a bean bag," chuckled my father.

As my eyes adjusted to the light. I looked down and saw that my dad was right. I was hugging a bright blue vinyl beanbag and not Santa's secret stash of joy. In shock at being discovered and reeling from disappointment, I sat there staring blankly at the sack. I remember my dad picking me up, and I did not let go of the bag. He carried me back to my bed, and tried to take the bag from me, but I wouldn't surrender it. It may not have been a magical sack of gifts, but it was mine; it was all I had to show for my late night adventure into the darkness of Christmas eve.

For the next two years, that bag and I were inseparable. It was honestly quite ridiculous for a seven year old boy to have a bean bag as a "blankie", but I didn't care. I took it to bed every night, watched TV in it, and even sat in it to eat at the dinner table. Santa may not have left me his bag full of toys, but he did bring me a bean bag full of memories.