Uncle Santa Claus

As a child, I never worried about whether or not Santa Claus existed because I knew he did. I wrote my letters with complete confidence. When schoolmates questioned whether or not there is a Santa Claus, I skipped away without fear. For the record, I still believe in Santa and for very good reason - Santa was my uncle.
Uncle Bill made a perfect Santa Claus. He was a jovial man, friendly and good-natured and generous almost to a fault. He showered me with unexpected presents year round - a huge blue stuffed dog with its' own cardboard dog house when I was three, a pair of kids' binoculars on a summer evening, and more. His physique suited that of Santa - he was a large man and when he was asked to don a Santa suit to promote holiday ice cream products at work, he did. After all, if the suit fits, wear it!
By the time I came along, he was an old hand at being Santa. I remember one holiday season that my parents took me to a supermarket on the other side of the city. As they rolled the cart up and down the aisles, I was amazed to hear Santa's merry laugh. I glanced up to see the jolly old elf approaching me. He called me by name and I cringed. If he knew my name, I figured he must know all my bad deeds. I was amazed and delighted when Santa told me he'd heard I had been a good girl. I pondered his forgiving nature as I enjoyed an ice cream serving shaped like a Christmas tree when I got home.
One Christmas Eve, my parents hurried me through supper. I was willing, eager to go to bed so that morning - and presents - would come sooner. My mother wouldn't let me change into my flannel nightgown because company was coming. When someone knocked at the door, I dashed to see who it might be. I expected grandparents or another relative but it was Santa!
Flustered, I dashed through the living room and into the bedroom where I crawled between the covers of my little bed. Santa laughed and so did my parents. My Aunt Janet came in behind Mr. Claus and explained that they had met on the street. I wasn't fooled - I knew right then the truth about Santa - he was my Uncle!
I returned to sit on Santa's knee. He told me he would be back later with the sleigh and presents. I fed him homemade Christmas cookies and brought him a glass of milk. After he left to go pick up the reindeer, I went to bed. He was true to his word - in the morning there were gifts beneath the tree - including that Kenner Easy-Bake Oven I wanted!
There was the year that Aunt Janet caught Santa on film - with pictures of a surprised Santa piling presents beneath her tree. Season after season, I never doubted Santa because I knew that during the rest of the year he was my Uncle Bill. Late one Christmas Eve, I even heard sleigh bells pealing merry tones as the sleigh took off from our roof.
Although my Uncle Bill died the summer after I graduated from high school, I still believe in Santa Claus. The love, the generous nature, and the magic that personify the man in the red fur suit live on. There is always someone to fill those black boots and to give children everywhere the magic of Christmas. Santa never fails and I will believe in him forever because my uncle was Santa Claus.