This is one of those stories that’s been the doing the internet rounds. I don’t know the original source, but it touched my heart, so I’m passing it on (with apologies to its author for not being able to give proper attribution)

 

The Truth About Santa Claus
 
 I remember my first Christmas adventure with Grandma.
 I was just a kid.
 
 I remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the
 day my big sister dropped the bomb: "There is no Santa Claus,"
 she jeered. "Even dummies know that!"
 
 My Grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to
 her that day because I knew she would be straight with me.
 
 I knew Grandma always told the truth, and I knew that the truth
 always went down a whole lot easier when swallowed with one of
 her "world-famous" cinnamon buns. I knew they were world-famous,
 because Grandma said so. It had to be true.
 
 Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites,
 I told her everything. She was ready for me.
 
 "No Santa Claus?" She snorted... "Ridiculous! Don't believe it.
 That rumor Has been going around for years, and it makes me mad,
 plain mad! Now, put On your coat, and let's go."
 
 "Go? Go where, Grandma?" I asked. I hadn't even finished my
 second world-famous cinnamon bun.
 
 "Where" turned out to be Kerby's General Store, the one store
 in town that had a little bit of just about everything. As we
 walked through its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That
 was a bundle in those days. "Take this money," she said, "and
 buy something for someone who needs it. I'll wait for you in
 the car." Then she turned and walked out of Kerby's.
 
 I was only eight years old. I'd often gone shopping with my
 mother, but never had I shopped for anything all by myself.
 The store seemed big and crowded, full of people scrambling to
 finish their Christmas shopping. For a Few moments I just
 stood there, confused, clutching that ten-dollar bill,
 wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy it for.
 
 I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my Friends, my
 neighbors, the kids at school, and the people who went to my
 church.
 
 I was just about thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobby
 Decker. He was a kid with bad breath and messy hair, and he
 sat right behind me in Mrs. Pollock's grade-two class.
 
 Bobby Decker didn't have a coat. I knew that because he never
 went out to recess during the winter. His mother always wrote
 a note, telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we
 kids knew that Bobby Decker didn't have a cough; he didn't have
 a good coat. I fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing
 excitement. I would buy Bobby Decker a coat!
 
 I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood to it.
 It looked real warm, and he would like that.
 
 "Is this a Christmas present for someone?" the lady behind the
 counter asked Kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.
 
 "Yes, ma'am," I replied shyly. "It's for Bobby."
 
 The nice lady smiled at me, as I told her about how Bobby really
 needed a Good winter coat. I didn't get any change, but she put
 the coat in a bag, smiled again, and wished me a Merry Christmas.
 
 That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat (a little tag
 fell out of the coat, and Grandma tucked it in her Bible) in
 Christmas paper and ribbons and wrote, "To Bobby, From Santa
 Claus" on it. Grandma said that Santa always insisted on
 secrecy. Then she drove me over to Bobby Decker's house,
 explaining as we went that I was now and forever officially,
 one of Santa's Helpers. Grandma parked down the street from
 Bobby's house, and she and I crept noiselessly and hid in the
 bushes by his front walk. Then Grandma gave me a nudge. "All
 right, Santa Claus," she whispered, "get going."
 
 I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the
 present down on his step, pounded his door and flew back to
 the safety of the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited
 breathlessly in the darkness for the front door to open.
 Finally it did, and there stood Bobby.
 
 Fifty years haven't dimmed the thrill of those moments spent
 shivering, beside my Grandma, in Bobby Decker's bushes. That
 night, I realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus
 were just what Grandma said they were: Ridiculous.
 
 Santa was alive and well, and we were on his team.
 I still have The Bible, with the coat tag tucked inside:
 $19.95.