Matthew Burnette, Staff Writer

The older I get, it feels like my memory threshold seems to be slowly creeping higher and higher.

There are things that I can recall vividly as if they happened yesterday but there’s some that at this point have become small hazy glimpses into the early years of my childhood.

Luckily, one of those vivid memories just so happens to be one of my most favorite Christmas mornings.

I can’t say with total certainty exactly what age I was, but I know that it was somewhere in the 4-6 range.

We lived in a small trailer on our family property. It was the first house that my parents ever owned. It was two bedrooms, so me and my brother shard a room for our roughly three-year tenure in the house.

A rod iron set of bunk beds with a futon on the bottom was where we slept at night. He was the more adventurous of the two of us, so he slept in the top bunk, and I occupied the bottom, close to the ground.

I’ve always been the early riser, and he’s always been more of a night owl. There are days now, both of us in our 30s, where I unintentionally wake him up with a phone call well into the morning.

Christmas morning was always a struggle for us. I was always ready to jump out of bed to go look under the tree and get the festivities started, but he always took some convincing that four in the morning was the perfect time to get up and go open up presents.

Then after we were both awake, the real struggle started: Who was going to wake our parents up?

We would quietly argue back and forth about who would have to complete the undesirable task. He’s always been the better arguer, so it was usually me that had to.

Starting with an almost whisper, I’d repeatedly call out to them until I was loud enough to startle them awake. Once they were, they’d tell us to give them a minute and to go ahead out to the living room and wait for them.

We would barrel down the narrow hallway out to the living room in eager anticipation.

This year was different though.

We barreled as we typically would, but what we found was unlike what had awaited us on other Christmas mornings.

The chimney was located on the ceiling right next to the tree. There was no fireplace under it, just a pipe that ran from inside of the house through the roof.

When it got colder outside, we would have to stuff a towel into it to keep the heat from escaping out of it and the cold air from coming in.

But when we made it to the living room, we immediately noticed that the towel had been pulled out from the chimney, which was baffling because there wasn’t really a reason that it should have been.

Our line of sight then slowly shifted down to the floor where we noticed something even more suspicious and way more exciting.

From the floor under the chimney to the Christmas tree and then back was a trail of boot prints made out of a white material. It took just a second for us to process what was going on and then the biggest smiles stretched across both of our faces.

Santa had been there to drop off our gifts and had left behind evidence this time. You couldn’t convince us otherwise.

Of course, looking back on the situation, it always seemed weird that Santa had the same size shoes as my dad, but hey, there is an abundance of coincidences in life and really not that many different shoe sizes.

Just recalling this Christmas morning is causing the hairs on my arm to stand up as I write this.

I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell you any of the gifts that we unwrapped that morning, but the heart-fluttering feeling of Christmas joy that I felt is one that will stick with me forever.

There are a lot of people with mixed feelings about the Christmas season. Oftentimes it can bring up old memories that we’d rather forget or just lead folks to focus on the craziness of the world.

But if there were ever a time to leave the world to the side and let your hearts be filled with joy, It’s Christmas.

Looking back on that Christmas morning, we didn’t have a whole lot when we lived in that small trailer. The house wasn’t in the best condition and had a lot of problems. Our parents often had to work long hours and were often tired once they got home.

Yet, that tiny trailer was the setting for one of the most joyous moments I’ve ever gotten to experience and a plethora of happy memories.

Joy can be found in the most unobvious places. You just have to look for it.

So, here’s to a joyful conclusion to everyone’s holiday season.

May your celebrations be filled with smiles and laughter and your hearts be filled with that special kind of warmth that comes along with the holidays.

May you find joy in the most unexpected places. May you carry it with you and even share it with someone.

Merry Christmas to all!