You know how, during Christmas, there’s that one moment — you can almost hear the “click” — when you know it’s, well, Christmas? For me, it’s always been something intangible: The first taste of my mom’s bourbon pecan cake, the amazing lights on my neighbor’s houses, the sound of the sleigh bells that always hang on our front door.

This year, my “click” happened today …
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“Mom, are you really Santa Claus?”

That’s what Tomas asked me the other night as he was drifting off to sleep, and I was trying not to.

“What makes you say that?” I asked back, jerked wide awake with panic at the thought of the conversation I was about to have.

Read the rest of my column today here. And tell me — when did your kids start getting wise to Santa? What did you tell them?

Eight pieces of silverware sit imposingly around the Haviland Limoges china. Silver water goblets paired with tall glasses of iced tea stand by elegant candlesticks, the red taper candles flickering beneath a massive chandelier.

In the lull between the soup and the salad course Cierra Eaton, 13, looks up warily. (That’s Cierra in the photo, left; she’s amazed by the giant refrigerator/freezer at the Troutt home where this dinner was held.)

“What if that falls?” she asks her mentor, Latoya Newsom, who sits at the head of the table. It won’t, Newsom reassures her.

Read the rest of Wendi C. Thomas’s column here. Do you remember learning the ins and outs — and spoons and forks — of fine dining? What has been most useful to you from those early lessons?

Thanks to the kindness of strangers, Fairley High School’s band has gathered enough money to accept the invitation to perform at the Orange Bowl later this month in Miami.

From a pitiful fund raising start of $3,750, six weeks later the band had gotten enough checks large and small to raise the $180,000 needed for the band members, majorettes, flag girls and plenty of adult chaperones to go.

The check that surprised me the most was for just $5, sent in by an inmate serving a 44-year sentence for aggravated robbery in the Tiptonville state pen. Andre (I won’t use his last name) sent me a letter explaining why he made the donation, and here’s what part of it says:
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The Christmas tree, I mean. We had a fun time last night pulling out all the old ornaments and carefully placing them exactly where they should go. (I hadn’t counted on the time it would take for my 7-year-old master of ceremonies to hang his treasures … we were up pretty late.) I still can’t get over how EARLY everything happens for Christmas now; I felt like we were way late in our decorating, even though I remember, as a kid, getting our tree the week before Christmas. Is it a Southern thing (I grew up in Ohio)? O r has the commercial culture permeated everything including those old traditions?