Nov 17, 2009

Chocolates in my sock


It was a tradition that vanished along with my Lola's passing.


Yes, apart from being a Daddy's girl, I too am a Lola's girl. Even as a little child of 5, I was always eager to take part in and experience the wonders of Christmas. My eyes would light up as I take in all the decorations I see in the places I go. I would help out in Noche Buena preparations, and just enjoy the atmosphere of the Yuletide season. And ever since, I already knew that Christmas would be my favorite time of the year.


The tradition is this. Just days before Christmas, my Lola (mother of my father) would tell me to hang a sock underneath the staircase, near the tree. She'd tell me about Santa Claus and what he has in store for good little girls like me. I would obey dutifully without any questions and hesitations, hang a sock and wonder what time Santa would come around to visit.


The next morning when I had already awaken, she would tell me to go check my sock to see if Santa has rewarded me for being a good girl. I would hurry to where my little sock was, full of excitement and anticipation. I would jump up and down in glee knowing that Santa considered me a good kid because of the chocolates he left inside my sock.


Lola would then take me to the dining area and tell me to always be a good and loving kid. My entire day would be spent looking at my chocolates and eating them slowly, one after another, as I would sing songs to Lola while she does her magic in the kitchen. As the night would again approach, I would find myself anticipating for Santa's visit as I slumber.

I miss Lola.