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It was Christmas Eve of 1958. I was 6-years-old. I'd woken up in the dark to pull up my covers closer. The wind was howling as the tree branches smacked against my window.

"Dear God, please don't let Santa freeze tonight," I prayed. I prayed for everything. Sister Mary Matthew, my first grade teacher, said this was a good thing to do. Just as I finished my prayer, a blazing light shot across the sky. "Was that Santa?" I sprang out of my bed to see.

The girls at school were spreading rumors that Santa wasn't real. "Wait until I tell them I saw his sleigh." I shook with excitement and scooted back under the covers.

The next morning, my 4-year-old sister, Pat, woke me early. She'd already gone down the stairs and peeked under the tree. She was bouncing on my bed screaming for me to "wake up! wake up!" I was rubbing my eyes when I noticed there was white stuff on my bed. It looked like snow. How did that get here? There were footprints on my carpet, too. We followed the prints down the stairs, through the dining room and into the kitchen. That's when we saw it.

"Uh-Oh! Somebody is in big trouble," Pat said seriously. There were cookie crumbs all over the table and the floor. Gran's favorite miniature Irish tea cup from Donegal was on the table, too. We were never allowed to touch that cup in case we broke it. It was a treasured possession all the way from Ireland. My little sister's high chair was pulled up to the table. Three phone books were on the seat.

What the heck was going on?

Mom and Dad came into the kitchen as we chimed in "We did not do this! And we didn't touch Gran's tea cup either." Mom was looking at us with a doubtful expression when my dad said, "I did it last night." Oh, he was so brave to admit that! Pat didn't care. "Let's open presents!" she shouted.

My dad said, "Okay if you don't want to hear about the elf that was here last night, go right ahead." I couldn't believe my ears! An elf?!? An elf was in my house?!?! "Tell me! Tell me!" I jumped up and down.

Dad said he was driving home late from work when he saw something moving in the snow. He thought it was a dog, but as he got closer, he was shocked to see it was an elf. "He was cold and scared. His leg hurt really bad, so I took him to Doc Morrison and he put a bandage on it."

I had so many questions.

"Where did he come from?"

"How big was he?"

"What was he wearing?"

"What is his name?"

"Dad! Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I did try to wake you up. You must have had sugar plums dancing in your head. You didn't even feel Charlie kiss your cheek."

This was too much for me! "I'd been kissed by an elf named Charlie?" First, I saw Santa's sleigh and now an elf had come to my house and kissed me! Wait until I tell the girls at school!

Dad continued to weave his tale. "Blitzen must have leaned too far to the left, and the elf just slipped off. I guess he didn't notice and kept on flying with the other reindeer. The poor little guy was so scared when I found him."

Mom suggested we open some presents and talk more about the elf at breakfast.

At breakfast, Dad talked more about Charlie, the elf. He told us how he rode on our puppy, Towzer. "Dad,"I said, "elves don't ride on dogs."

"Well this one did, " he said. "Then he had some hot cocoa and cookies. He loved snickerdoodles! Blitzen came back for him at two a.m. I heard a tapping on the window. Boy, was I suprised to see a big reindeer at the window. Charlie was so happy to see him. I helped him back up onto Blitzen. He gave me a big hug and said, 'Thank you, Jimmy. I'll try to stop by again next Christmas. You have yourself a Merry Christmas.'"

Later that afternoon, my dad was falling asleep on the couch. The Christmas lights twinkling. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" played on the radio. I leaned over the top of his head, so we had upside down faces. I kissed his forehead and whispered, "This was the best Christmas of my whole life." He smiled and said, "Mine, too, Anne. Mine, too."

Some gifts you just can't buy in a store or online. Merry Christmas everyone!

P.S. This tradition has continued with all my sisters and our kids - and now their kids. Every Christmas Eve we buy a 10-pound bag of confectioners sugar and dip a doll's foot in it to make the prints. I'm sure my Dad is smiling in heaven every Christmas Eve.

- Anne Bardsley

Anne Bardsley, of St. Petersburg, Fla., is the author of How I Earned My Wrinkles, a collection of humorous and sentimental stories about marriage, motherhood and menopause. She lives in a menopausal world with a husband who gives her wrinkles. When people ask her age, she sometimes tells them her bra size. "36-C," she says, "was a wonderful age."