For Readers with Exquisite Tastes

NEW: Accepting her Laird, Book 3 of the McRaidy Clan

NEW: Accepting her Laird, Book 3 of the McRaidy Clan
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~The McRaidy Collection~

  • Her McRaidy Chieftain, Book 1 of the McRaidy Clan
  • Somers Rising, Book 2 of the McRaidy Clan
  • Accepting her Laird, Book 3 of the McRaidy Clan
  • Only because it was You, Gus McRaidy
  • All of Me, A McRaidy Son

Saturday, December 22, 2012


When I was around the age of deciding my thoughts about the realism of Santa I remember seeing a look of concern in my father's gaze. As I explained to he and my mother that the other kids at school said Santa and the north-pole were just a myth, they listened but were very quick to quash those "silly notions".
I was still somewhat unsure but as Christmas approached I pondered the question, "if I didn't believe in Santa, would that affect my gift haul?"
As always, Christmas Eve came, all the family arrived and as usual, my dad disappeared for the night. Since it had always been the case that he had to work, I didn't question it. In fact I couldn't remember a time when he didn't have to haul a run (semi truck) on the night before Christmas.
While we unwrapped our gifts, I slipped into my bedroom for a minute to get my moms gift I'd made for her. My bedroom was dark but the curtains were still open. I glanced out into the back yard and against the white snow glowing from the moon, Santa stepped out of our travel trailer!
Ohhhhh my dad was going to be so mad! No one was allowed in there without his supervision!
I wanted to warn the jolly man but just as I tugged on my window, he stopped and looked at me. His head bowed for a moment and felt utter guilt at catching him. He slowly walked toward me and I tingled in anticipation.
I finally got my window open and he stood face to face with me.
"Why aren't you with everyone in the living room?" He spoke quietly.
"I was getting my present for my mom."
"Do you know who I am?"
I looked him over carefully. There wasn't any mistaking the crinkled brown eyes staring back at me.
He nodded, "Yes."
"You're Santa?"
His head lifted and a glitter twinkled in his eyes.
"Yes I am."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Just you and me."
"Why don't we live at the north-pole?"
His brow furrowed for a long moment and then it lifted, "Schools. The schools are better here."
Since I went to a private Catholic school, it seemed reasonable. After all, when I brought home less than stellar grades, my parents reminded me about the tuition they paid for me to attend and how blessed I should feel at the opportunity they gave me.
He promised we'd talk tomorrow and jogged away into the night. That was many years ago and I still believe as I did then. I'm Santa's daughter and we didn't live at the north-pole so I could attend my wonderful school. Over the years, I've helped the jolly old man with his Christmas clothes and bells. It always excited me. I even saved the newspaper article of Santa being pulled over in our pickup truck for speeding. There wasn't enough snow that year for the sleigh:)
My Santa dad has given of himself many times over his life. Each year he gave part of his Christmas to make a large handful of families happier. He donned his outfit to accompany children on  make a wish helicopter rides. Special needs children lit up when he knelt next to them or picked them up from their bed or chair to sit on his lap. Foster kids of all ages whispered their wishes for a family in his ear. I could go on but you see what he has contributed to the season.
I think Santa is pretty special.
Lots of Love