Yesterday I remembered my first meeting with Mosul ... I was only 4 years old and I was in my grandparents. I had heard of Santa at the kindergarten, I had seen it in the booklets, I had even colored it, but I had never seen it in reality ... I knew it was giving gifts to the good children who know a poem, so I had already prepared, besides the poems from the kindergarten I had learned one from the mother ... I had told my father that the night would come to Mosul and our house. Mamaia had woken up in the morning and kosonaci ... the smell of burned wood in the hob, the fire was boiling in the fire, and in the furnace, the peasant furnace (where I thought Moslem was coming), they were slashing the sarmale. Outside was snow almost as great as me ... Mamaia dressed me well and sent me to play. Snow was soft under the soles ... I loved to eat snow and curtains from the low stresses ... I played with my children until I felt my hands and feet frosting and wet and my nose was red like a donkey ... hardly m They got into the house and stripped me ... In the house it was hot, the stove was hot ... it smelled of fir and spaghetti, sour and sarmale ... I did not want to eat anything but hot cake with nuts, shit and cocoa ... I stood next to the stove and felt like a fire on my face, my fingers twitching and wringing me like needles ... Mamaia brought me a cake and a cup of milk ... At some point, they heard the beatings in the glass, and the door came in with ... it was him, even Santa Claus in my coloring books ... it was just the way I imagined it with a white beard and a red robe with his hood ... and he had a hemp bag ... a wheat bag with flour with eggplants ... ... I was wondering because I knew in bags like that, daddy was making wheat when he went to the mill and brought the flour when he came home ... to u had eggplant when he went to the market ... I had the emotions, I almost forgot the poetry ... Mosul had a gentle look and the beard was white, true like the hair ... took me on my knees and asked me if I was good, if I eat and if I know a poem ... I told her the poetry with a trembling voice of emotion ... Mosul put his hand in the bag and I was expecting to give me a bruise or a handful of wheat (it was the first time Mosu came to me, I did not know what she had in that bag) ... but she pulled out a bag of sweets, a chocolate bag with a red pack and coffee beans (I later read that it was called Mocca), a transparent plastic bunny full of candy like colored balls and a blue, plastic ball full of the same type of candy as in the bunny. I was left with my mouth wide open ... I had never seen such a gift and I was happy and happy because I wanted it ... that brought me parents when they came from Brasov.
That was Santa Claus, because I do not even know who it was today ... and the truth is that the following Moses were not so beautiful, they did not have the real beard and never came when they were supposed to come later or too early.