“Kids believe in Santa; adults believe in childhood.”

Author Cate Kennedy hits the mark with that line from her short story collection, “Dark Roots.”

Last week, while Scott, Elizabeth and I fulfilled Santa’s elf duty, stuffing toys, candy and fruit into brown paper sacks, visions from Christmases past reminded me of the good ol’ days and what days leading up to the holiday were like during the age of flower power and groovy, man.

In Clay Center, Santa Claus made an appearance on Saturdays in December. Not a one-time visit. Oh, no. He arrived by horse-drawn sleigh most Saturdays - you know in case someone missed a week. The other time, local firemen escorted Santa into town, making their way down Highway 14, before turning west, headed for the business district.

Our neighborhood gang never missed a week. We’d gather at one of our houses and walk together for the half block to Main Street, Christmas music blaring from a loudspeaker set up near the middle of the town square. Two steps of concrete led to the sidewalk from the street and we’d claim our spots, waiting for Jolly Old St. Nick to arrive.

You know, we never did figure out how the fire trucks left the station situated on the south side of the square or where they met up with Santa. Magic, I guess.

Santa distributed goodie bags stuffed to the brim, fastened in the middle of the craft paper with a single staple. Once home, we’d open the sacks and pour the loot on the kitchen table, sorting and separating peanuts in the shell from the cut rock, rainbow gem and baby ribbon candies. An apple and orange were staples in the gift bags. The local bank donated quarters and each bag contained two shiny 25-cent pieces. The local hardware store included some sort of tiny toy; nothing fancy, just something to keep our attention.

Our parents hung out uptown, too. Some shopped for clothing or jewelry at A & M Dry Goods. Others purchased a week’s worth of groceries at GW Market or sipped a cuppa Joe at Flossie’s cafe.

There were community drawings, too. Each business displayed a box, where customers would leave their vitals on scraps of paper. On the final weekend of Santa visits, the man in the red suit drew names from the boxes and each lucky winner took home a prize from places like Huffaker’s Home Appliance or Hertel’s Hardware or Commercial State Bank.

And, the local newspaper editor or photographer was present, snapping photos and gathering names, for upcoming editions.

As kids, we believed in Santa and wanted to share our wish lists with the bearded man, who, we all knew, was local county weed superintendent Glenn Sperry. On those Saturdays, though, especially as we grew older, we suspended belief, for the sake of younger siblings and the magic of Christmas.

As kids, we could not wait for cool December days to arrive, bundling up and spelling our names with our breath while we waited for the official visits to begin.

The innocence of Christmas, through a youngster’s eyes, is a breathtaking story, slowly unraveling, revealing layers of the reason for the season.

As adults, we long for days gone by, hold on to memories we would like our own families to experience. Sometimes, the simple elements of small-town life leave lasting memories. Whether a business made a donation or new residents joined in the annual celebration for the first time, a lasting impression continues, even now.

As an adult, I appreciate the intertwining of Christmas and community, neighbors gathering together, sharing a common bond, giving a childlike perspective to the place we call home.