I know that a lot of you are going to question my mental state after this one, but this is my story and I am sticking to it:

So it's Christmas Eve 1989 and I am five years old. Mamaw and PaHoney sent us to bed at our usual 8pm so that we were "fast asleep when Santa arrived." We put out our cookies and the carrot for Rudolph and went to bed. This probably looked like an image from a story book as my sister and I were dressed in (matching) red flannel nightgowns with matching red caps, our curls hanging out from underneath.

We went to bed and fell asleep instantly because we were convinced that Santa does not show up unless we are sleeping. About halfway through the night, I woke up curious to see if Santa had left our gifts yet. I snuck out of bed, opened the door, and wondered down the hallway. I looked under the tree and saw a lot of stuff, though I couldn't exactly make out what was sitting there. I smiled and quickly turned around to run back to bed.

That's when I bumped into Santa Clause!

No, seriously, I bumped into Santa. I know it was him. I was so afraid that all I could muster out was an "excuse me" and ran. I told my sister who totally believed me, though no one else did.

To this day, Mamaw tells me I ran into a coat hanger that night but I know she is wrong. I saw Santa Clause.