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The Christmas eve that I was about three and my brother Stanley was about five we were told to go to bed and go to sleep or Santa wouldn't come.
We were so excited that we lay in bed giggling and talking. Then we heard a noise in the living room. We slipped out of bed and crept down the hallway. Lying on the floor we could see under the door.
"It must be Santa," my brother exclaimed.
We rushed back to bed and pulled the covers over our heads and hoped that Santa hadn't heard us. I don't really remember what we got that Christmas, but we never slipped out of bed again to take a peek.
Years later, I realized it must have been my father putting presents under the tree.