Becky Flade, Author

SANTA! One word that invokes tons of childhood memories. As a little girl, I was blessed to have the same Santa for most of my childhood. He knew me so well, he’d ask my mom about an accident I had at three and if I was healing properly. Then marvel at how little of a scar I had. At seven he had his fingers crossed when I went in for surgery to remove a small tumor from my face. Then hugged me when I came to see him, stitches and all. I got an extra candy cane that year. As I grew up, I found myself wondering if “my” Santa would show up and if I’d be able to see him just one more time. The man who donned the costume and spent so many years with me, actually became a part of our family. I was sad the year another Santa took his place, but none the less got excited when the fire department would herald the arrival of Santa at our mall. One year my grandparents took me to Rim of the World, to Santa’s Village. I loved it. (Even if the winding roads made me sick.) I can’t tell you...