Read Excerpt from The Magic of Children at Christmas

In The Magic of Children at Christmas, twenty women share their precious childhood Christmas memories in stories that are filled with all the sweetness of a magical childhood and hope in the true meaning of Christmas.  A great read for yourself or your holiday book club to set the mood for Christmas.  I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I have. – Alicia

Purchase the paperback version of The Magic of Children at Christmas here.

Letter to Santa, by Alicia Walters

When I was a very little girl, my mother and father always had me open one Christmas present on Christmas Eve. Usually it was a new Lanz of Salzburg flannel nightgown. I loved changing into my soft, new nightgown and climbing up on the couch to listen to my father read The Teddy Bear’s Picnic in his big, deep voice that sounded like a bear’s. He would say, “This story again?” And I would tell him, “Yes. It is my favorite.” Then we would pull out the small record that came with the book and I would put my feet on my daddy’s feet and we would dance to the Teddy Bear’s Picnic song. I still have my Teddy Bear’s Picnic bear that you can wind up and a music box inside will play the tune. It is one of my treasures.

Thank you for reading.  Please follow Alicia Walters Blog on Facebook and Instagram.  Purchase the Kindle version of The Magic of Children at Christmas, here.

My dad spent most of his time at home downstairs in the library behind a large, oak desk. The library had several hundred books about history and religion, as well as multiple encyclopedias as well as literary classic collections. My dad was very organized and kept the bookshelves looking pristine, each book lined up with the binding outward and flush against the other. As a little girl, I liked to push all the books in against the back of the shelf, which caused my dad some anguish over his previously orderly library.

If I stood on my tippy toes, I could peer over the top of his desk and notice several stacks of organized papers, an ink well, a typewriter, and a large hole punch. I loved to throw open the desk drawer and see what treasures lay inside: some cufflinks, a large eraser, a tin of Altoid’s peppermints, and sometimes one of my drawings I had given him. He had framed pictures of my mother and their children displayed around his desk and his briefcase has hid initials on it.

But one of the items that always fascinated me was my dad’s Mont Blanc fountain pen. It seemed giant in my little hands and you had to unscrew the lid to see the most unusual pen a child has ever seen. My dad had told me not to ever use that pen, but how could I resist? I yanked some paper that had already been fed into the typewriter and began scratching out the letters of my name: “A – l – i – c – i – a.” I pretended I was signing an official declaration to the Queen. The fountain pen made thick, black letters in beautiful, fancy ink.

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That Christmas, I had been extra enamored with Santa and the thought of living in the North Pole. I remember thinking that if I could just visit Santa in the North Pole, he would let me make friends with a polar bear or even ride on the back of one of his magic reindeer. I loved Santa Claus and I wanted so much to be good. I was so excited to set out a plate of cookies for him and wanted him to know how happy I was that he would come to our house and leave presents for me.

I yanked another piece of paper from my dad’s typewriter and began writing a letter to Santa: “Dear Santa, I hope you like these cookies. Thank you for coming to my house and giving me presents. Are you real?” I asked, hoping that I would get a letter in reply confirming my belief and proving to my friends that Santa is indeed real. I set the letter next to a plate of cookies and a tall glass of cold milk.

That night, I lay wide awake in my Christmas nightgown. I looked outside my bedroom window at a clear, winter sky filled with stars that shone like Christmas lights laced throughout the entire universe. I hoped so much that Santa would see my letter and that he would write me back. It seemed like the only thing that occupied my thoughts that Christmas Eve night. I wanted Santa to be real.

Christmas morning came and I rushed downstairs to where the milk and cookies and letter had been. The milk glass was empty as well as the plate, with the exception of a few crumbs and in the place where my letter was I saw a new letter: Santa had written me back on red paper! “Dear Alicia, Thank you for your kind letter. Yes, I am real. I enjoyed the milk and cookies. You are a good girl. Merry Christmas, Santa.” It was written with beautiful, fancy ink in thick, black letters just like how my dad’s Mont Blanc fountain pen wrote.

Thank you for reading.  Please follow Alicia Walters Blog on Facebook and Instagram.  Purchase the Kindle version of The Magic of Children at Christmas, here.

“Dad,” I said, “Santa has a fountain pen just like yours!” “That’s because your dad and Santa have very good taste,” my father said. I was sure this must be true. Because I knew that Santa was wonderful, good mannered, well-read and kind to children just like my dad and so it made perfect sense that they would both prefer fancy fountain pens as opposed to subpar ball point ones. I think Santa’s letter to me was my favorite Christmas gift that year and it continues to be one that I always remember every Christmas.


Alicia Walters is a mother to four children, including identical twins. She is passionate about motherhood and believes that childhood can be filled with magical memories that can help carry them through their trials in life. Follow Alicia Walters Blog on Facebook and Instagram.

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by writer Alicia Walters, contributor to print and digital magazines.

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