Back in the days when it was still politically correct to celebrate the Holiday Season as the Christmas Holidays we would all have a pretty grand time waiting for Santa Claus to arrive at our house every cold Christmas Eve. We lived in a rented house in west Edmonton in Central Alberta and the winters there were bone-chilling cold. However, all of us children in that household didn't mind that fact as the eventful night of Santa's arrival approached.

The Christmas's in our house were celebrated in a rather spartan fashion. We would each find one present tagged with our name under the real Christmas tree come Christmas Day morning. And we would also find the hand sewn stockings that Mama made and monikered with our name stuffed to overflowing with a vast assortment of teeth-rotting seasonal Christmas candy and juicy Christmas Mandarin oranges.

But we didn't care about this simplicity because it was a very special day nonetheless and the sugary sweetness of the candy and oranges was more than enough to satisfy our limited palates during those young years of childhood.

In our household resided four children: me, and my equally spaced siblings aged just one year apart from each other starting with my one-year-older brother Richard.

Because of this lineup of young feet and mouths to feed in the household, the place we were renting was not especially expansive nor decorative. It had creaky hardwood floors, a cold scary basement, and three bedrooms for six people. But we didn't mind sharing the limited bedrooms with one of our siblings as we really weren't raised to expect anything different.

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Now, let me explain the layout of the bedroom I shared with my brother Richard. It was a very small bedroom and we each slept in our separate twin bunk beds that were not at that time stacked on top of each other. However, because of the small size of the room we did have to situate the beds so that we could still have room to walk between them to get about the room.

My head of my bed was situated along the same wall that held the bedroom door. Richard's bed was situated with the head of his bed along the wall opposite the wall that held the bedroom door. What this equated to was the foot of each of our beds almost were in alignment in the center of the room; however, they were staggered in alignment so that there was enough space to allow for someone to still walk between them.

Now, this house didn't have a fireplace nor a chimney so we had to get inventive as to where we hung Mama's custom made Christmas stockings so that Santa Claus could fill them with goodies. What Richard and I did that particularly fateful December 24th was to hang our stockings on one of the bedposts situated at the foot of each of our beds.

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Needless to say the arrival of Santa Claus was an extremely pleasurable event to our young minds. And so we spent the better part of Christmas Eve waiting with baited breath for this mystical man who brought all this pleasure to our sometimes troubled household. Even though it was only one night a year it was always something that I found myself looking forward to with immense anticipation.

But this particular Christmas Eve was a watershed moment for my young mind and I was forever changed by the transpiration of events that cold winter's evening. It was already dark for many hours that night as the sun had set sometime in the late afternoon. The house was thick with childhood excitement as this was the evening prior to the 'big day'.

As usual we were told that Santa Claus would not come to our house unless all of us kids were in bed and fast asleep. Well, we did what most kids would do, we complied and promptly went to bed rather early.

However, because it was early in the evening I found that I couldn't sleep. I went to bed and I laid there in an anxious state thinking that I could actually stay up until the Big Man arrived. Because of this expectation, every cell in my body was attuned to an incredibly wakeful state just waiting for the littlest out-of-place sound in the household possibly signaling the arrival of Santa.

I remember that shortly after we kids went to our bedrooms and supposedly went to sleep in our beds, I could hear my parents follow suit. After all, Santa Claus certainly wouldn't come into a household where the parents were awake, would he?

So I was glad that Mama and Daddy were in bed too as this made the house deathly silent with the exception of the gas furnace turning off and on throughout the evening.

Anyway, after what seemed like an eternity to my young mind I still wasn't able to get to sleep. I just lay there face down on the bed trying my hardest to be a good little boy and fall off to meet the sandman yet stay awake for the big moment of Santa's arrival.

However, after what seemed like an eternity of lying on the bed I heard this series of sounds emanating from somewhere down the hallway. It sounded like the noise was coming from my parents bedroom but I couldn't be sure so I just listened with full attentiveness. I heard rustling sounds and a little bit of muffled talking as I lay there in my warm bed.

Then it came...

The sound of footsteps on the creaky wooden floor boards of the house.

I heard these unidentifiable sounds first occurring in my older siblings bedroom down the hall and around the corner. And then I heard footsteps coming closer to my and Richard's room. I thought to myself "this is it, Santa Claus is here and he's going to bring my present and fill my stocking with goodies". As I knew that he was coming to my bedroom next, I lay there and pretended to be asleep but all the while I lay facing in the direction of the doorway.

I was so excited, and somewhat scared about this big moment; however, I found myself just having to look and see what the Big Man looked like in person. After he had finished shaking my bed a bit when he filled my Christmas stocking I opened my eyes to take a look at him as he filled my brother Richard's stocking hanging on his bedpost at the foot of his bed.

However, the sight I saw was not what I expected to see in that dimmed moonlight room that late Christmas Eve night. I was supposed to see a roly-poly man with long white hair and wearing a bright red suit and shiny black boots filling my brother's stocking with Christmas delights. But as I slowly peeked open my eyes what I came face to, er, face with was my Daddy's very naked back end.

Yes, his butt. Bone white naked. The permanent vertical smile. His tushie. In its full glory. Naked.

Why? Well, because for some reason my Dad always slept in the buff no matter how cold the night was. (And he continued to do so until I left my parents household when I was 18 years old.)

But that unexpected sight at the foot of my brothers bed was it for me. My seven-year-old Christmas bubble had burst...

To my small mind and opened, innocent eyes all I saw when I looked down at my brother's bed was a big, white, naked bum that appeared to be radiantly glowing in the moonlight. And after Daddy finished his task with the stocking and he heavily tiptoed out of the room I lay there in light shock.

The Truth shone brightly that night and the Santa Claus lie had come to light in that bedroom that cold winters night. In more ways than one.

Dad was Santa Claus. And I had visual proof. Of course, this was not the type of believable proof to share with my school friends, but proof nonetheless.

Yes, Christmas was never the same for me after that. I knew who the Big Man was.

But after that event I came to appreciate the effort my parents went to to have me be able to take a memory like this into my adulthood. A memory, albeit an unexpectedly funny one, that I will take into my later years and perhaps share with my sons when they too realize just who the Big Man in the red suit is in their lives every Christmas season now.

But for now, I'll continue the tradition of keeping the mystery of Santa Claus alive in my boys' minds as long as I can. But... without the nudity.

Written by Andre Best
President, Ultimate Results, Inc.
http://www.andrebest.com
'Learn About Life From Another Perspective'

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PS. HAPPY 76TH BIRTHDAY DAD! I hope you have enjoyed this special birthday gift as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love you. :-)