Ghost of Christmas Past

I remember growing up as a kid the night before Christmas. My parents always made us stay up late to insure we would sleep through the night. But as a kid, the only night of the year where it doesn't matter how long you stay up, you were excited, eager, and anxious to get a glimpse of the man in the red suit. Same routine over and over, every it seemed. Bound and determined to catch him in the act of sliding down the chimney or even the last glimpse of him and his team of reindeer taking off from the roof top of your house. Which takes me to the Christmas of 1984. My brother and I were just getting ready for bed. Mom came in telling us you better get some sleep or Santa won't come. Let me take a step away from this story for a moment. To tell you about my Mom. She was a hard working individual. Proud, strong, wonderful and loving mother. Always made the holidays special. No matter how hard things were. Honestly, I can say she was my hero growing up. Being the youngest of three brothers. Always there to talk, listen, and give a hug. In short my Mother was the stuff and never could compare to others. The rock in three young boys life. So mom, if your reading this, I just wanted to say thanks for everything and I love you dearly. Your my true meaning of Christmas.
Ok, back to the story of Christmas 1984. Where was I, oh yes. So my brother and I were making it quick to get to bed, so Santa would come. Plate of Cookies for the long traveler and to top it off a glass of fresh cold milk. That's right, the good stuff. I remember not being able to sleep at all that night, only being six years old, full of excitement and wonder. I managed to fall asleep. The next morning to my surprise, it was a beautiful sight. The tree lit, stockings filled with candy and toys, from the big man himself. The plate of cookies eaten and the glass of brisk cold milk gone. My brother being the great detective he is, said, " Hey look at this!".  I went over and with a squint in my eyes, my brother, holding his hand up and his pointer finger and thumb were pinched together tightly, only to notice a single white, not grey, but white hair he had found on the plate of eaten cookies. Wondrous to behold and amazing to my young mind. It's official, he does exist. Santa is real and we had the proof in the pudding. The most amazing Christmas of all times. The Spirit of Christmas is different in all, but, that's my spirit right there. To me something to share with my kids and their kids.
I know it sounds corny, but, it's mine and that's what matters most. So I ask you this. What's your most powerful memory of Christmas? What keeps us in believing? I know what keeps me believing.
Thanks Mom for all the wonderful Christmases over the years. Thanks for showing me how to show my kids the true meaning of Christmas. Until next time, Happy holidays from the Millers', peace, love, and god bless our troops on this most precious holiday..