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Cultural Background |
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Storyteller's Cabin |
Written by Craig Dominey
Despite what your parents may have told you - there is a real Santa Claus. And I should know, because I've seen him myself!
Now before you think I'm absolutely nuts, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I was born in 1937 deep in the remote mountains of southwestern Virginia. Even as a very young boy, I remember how big and rocky those mountains were. Our tiny, two-room cabin clung to the mountainside like a crow perched on a tree limb. The soil was so hard and barren that nobody could make a decent living growing crops. If you ever saw where we lived, you might wonder why we didn't just get up and leave.
Daddy moved us there for two reasons - to be close to relatives, and to work the coal mines. Daddy's family had worked in the mines for years, so when he was old enough, he grabbed a shovel and went to work. Of course, back then a lot of the work was done by hand. Daddy would frequently come home and fall fast asleep on the couch from exhaustion. But even though we didn't have much, he provided everything we needed to live.
One day, Daddy was told he had to go off and fight for our country in some place I'd never heard of. After he left, my older brothers and sisters would read his letters aloud that he sent back from these real exotic-sounding places. But one day, the letters stopped coming. Mama worried herself sick until the day some military men showed up on our doorstep. My daddy was killed in battle, they said, but rest assured - he had died bravely.
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