“It was Christmas Eve, and my boy was three, almost four. My wife and our seven-year-old daughter were out looking at lights, but my son and I stayed home because I don’t like crowds, and he doesn’t like the cold. So we’re just sitting there in the living room, watching the Nightmare Before Christmas when someone starts pounding on the front door. I got to open it and when I do in staring down the barrel of a loaded weapon being held by a guy in a dark red trench coat. He’s obviously on some substances or something, either way, there’s this crazy look in his eyes.
He says ‘Let me in, I just want your stuff, no one has to get hurt,’ and then he lets himself in, keeping the loaded weapon on me.
My mind’s racing, because if he at all hurts my son, I’m going to jail for viciously and maliciously murdering a man. So he walks me into the kitchen and starts looking around for valuables. Then I hear my son walk towards us, and I’m panicking and tensing. I had no idea what to freaking do.
My son walks in and sees me and this guy and asks, in the most innocent voice ‘Santa?’
Looking at the burglar. I look at the guy and there’s something going through his mind.
He goes ‘Yep, it’s me Santa. I’m just here to talk to your daddy about how good you’ve been this year. Now you go back, so I can talk to him so your surprise doesn’t get ruined.’
My son looks at me and I tell him to go, and he does. Once he’s back in the living room, he turns to me and says ‘I didn’t know you had kids, I’m sorry,’ and then just throws himself out the door.
I call the cops, my wife and daughter come home, it’s a big debacle. The entire time my boy is telling the cops, the paramedics my wife his sister, ‘I got to meet Santa!’ He’s almost 7 now, and he has no idea we were almost robbed. No idea when I’m going to tell him.”