When I think back , one of my fondest memories was when I was seven. I grew up in a completely
African-American black community as a child. The neighborhood was one nestled between lower
middle class and the happy being poor. As a tomboy I didn't really care, I was happy playing karate and
stickball with the other kids. One particular morning was different.
I remembered being awaken Christmas morning by my father. My father came into my room with
a gaint smile upon his face, he said" Wake up sleepy head we have a surprise for you!". I was wearing a
hot pink and green striped polyester nightgown with matching slippers. I recall my hair had been in an afro,
because it was popular for the time. He gave me a long tender hug, then lifted me effortlessly to his
shoulders. When he entertained me I could think of no other time in my life that I was so overcome with joy.
He bounced me around pretending to be an airplane and the classic rodeo bull.
Once we were in the living room, my eyes begun to twinkle and dance at the site of a great white
Christmastree. The tree sparkled with lights and bulbs of every shape and color. I remember the warmth
intoxicating my family, because it seemed to overcome the room. I sat there on my billowy over-sized pillow
grinning from ear to ear next to the tree.
I started to open my first glittery gift when a knock came from the front door. My father ushered
me to answer the door. I opened the door. There at the doorway stood Santa, but not just any Santa it was
a black Santa Claus. Being naive I immediately concocted the idea that there must have been two Santa's.
It was the first black Santa that I ever saw. I welcomed him in as would had any child. In mindboggling
amazement to me he knew my name and he had gifts just for me. Santa read a story , took pictures and told
...