“Know what I’m going to do?” he’d ask. “I’m going to take a greeeat, biiig bag and sit up all night long and watch the fireplace for Santa Clause. I’ll hide behind this chair, and when old Santa comes out of that chimney…I’LL JUMP OUT AND CATCH HIM!”
At this point, my grandmother would yell at him, “Oh, Homer, stop that! You’re scaring the children!”
He wasn’t scaring me at all, though. I secretly thought it was a brilliant idea! Why had no one thought of it before?
Sad to say the only thing I worried about was whether or not it would work. What would my grandfather do with Santa once he was in the bag? Would Santa be forced to live with them, or would my grandfather let him go at some point? Wouldn’t Santa be mad? And since Santa is magical, might he have secret magical defenses against just such assaults? Plus there was also the question of whether my grandfather could take him. They were both old, yes, but my grandfather was clearly much thinner; would Santa’s extra fat slow him down or give him an advantage?
Somehow my grandfather never accomplished it. He always fell asleep waiting. This was Santa’s real magic, I decided.
So that’s my heartwarming Christmas story. At least you know where I got it.