that you must keep him comfortable and stick to your normal routine as much as possible.'' The doctor didn't look at my mother when he said this, avoiding her eyes, as if he was unsure of the cause of my ailment. "So you don't even know what it is? Aw, jeez!'' "That's enough, Sam. Thank you, Dr. Stokes, I'll call you if necessary.'' "No problem at all. A merry Christmas to you both.'' "Well, we didn't get much out of that, now did we honey?'' Mom asked as we climbed into the car. I didn't answer her. After everything that the doctor had done to me, sticking things in my ears and all that! He was so vague; it was like he didn't even know what my problem was. Some doctor. How could I not be angry with him and everything else? The rest of the way home we drove in silence. Pulling into the driveway, I noticed that my father's bike wasn't there. "Where's Dad?'' I asked my mom, panicked, but I already knew the answer. "Oh, he went away for business, just like he always does in December,'' she answered, as if it wasn't a big deal at all. Yea, just like always. He was never home for my winter vacation and for Christmas. I remember often thinking that a good father would be home for the holidays. "He's always gone, and why didn't he say goodbye to me and Clara? Dad's never home for Christmas, he doesn't even care! I hate him!'' I screamed at my mother, and threw open the car door. I jumped out, slammed it, and went inside through the unlocked back door. I could hear my sister, Clara, who had been asleep in the back seat, crying because I had waken her up. She could be such a pain sometimes! In the bathroom I shared with Clara, I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I saw a too-short eleven-year-old boy with big brown eyes and huge ears that went up to a bit of a point. "They never used to do that,'' I noticed. My ears had always been big, but now, "My whole face looks different,'' I realised with a start. I ran into the hall and grabbed a photo of our family from a couple of years ago, and dashed back into the bathroom. I held the photo up to the mirror and compared my face in both the picture and the mirror. I had the photo up to the mirror and compared my face in both the picture and the mirror. I had changed! I knew it! That's why we had gone to see the doctor: my mother measured me every month, and throughout the past three months I hadn't grown on inch, and this month I was an inch shorter than the one before! Crazy I know, but it was true! I wiggled my toes in my shoes and boy, did they have a lot of room to move in! My feet seemed to be shrinking, too. So there I was, a tiny eleven-year-old with small feet and big, pointy ears. What was going on? A few days later, my sister and I were late night shopping in town with my mother, buying some last-minute gifts. Mom and Clara were looking at some dresses and I was bored out of my mind. Looking out into the street, I saw the colourful Christmas lights strung out overhead, as they were every year. On the sidewalk stood a man with two small boys, pointing the lights out to them, and the sight of this made me miss my own dad even more. Why did he go away every year at the same time? And how come he always had to miss Christmas? On the way back to our car, I caught my reflection in the drugstore's window, and I almost didn't recognise myself! I was amazed to see the impish face, pink cheeks, and pointy ears of a small boy only slightly resembling me, and the whole scene scared me. I was changing, that was certain, but into what I could only guess. Christmas Eve came and went, just the three of us inside our little pink cottage. Clara, excited, skipped about in her red footie-pyjamas, canting, "Santa's coming, Santa's coming!'' whilst I sulked about the house, sad and forlorn. How could may sister be so happy with her own father gone for the holidays? It stupefied me and made me even angrier. That night, instead of listening for the sound of reindeer hooves on our whitewashed roof like most children my age, I seethed in my bed, pretending that dad cared enough for us to stay home this year, and that when I woke up, he would be downstairs by the tree, waiting. I wasn't surprised when my dreams were proved untrue once again, and I awoke to my mother and Clara, rashly tearing he wrappings off the many gifts for her.

"Santa came!'' she exclaimed as I entered the room. My mom handed me a shiny, silver wrapped gift. "Here, darling, this one's for you, it's from your dad.'' I took it, excited now too, and tore the paper away from the small package. What I unveiled was a...a...what was it? "It'' was a tiny cedar carving of a longtail! "Oh, it's awesome!'' I exclaimed and began to examine it. What puzzled me was the inscription on the bottom: `Sam; Dec. 25'. What was that all about? However, my thoughts were cut short when there were more gifts to unwrap and other Christmas duties to attend to, so I could ponder the carving's message no longer. That night, I sat in bed with the figurine, curiously turning it over in my hands. Why would my dad give me something like this? He didn't even like birds, for all I knew. The Longtail's eyes were made of glass, black and shiny. I could see my reflection in them, and once again I was taken aback with what I saw. Those ears! They looked like they'd grown in the past week, and were now pointier than ever! When I got back to school I knew I'd never hear the end of it. Clara was already teasing me about them and what about my height? I couldn't even reach the cupboard in the kitchen anymore! My dad never said a thing about my appearance before he left, and neither had my mother said anything about it lately, but I noticed! "What am I gonna do?'' I stressed. But, they, what was this? Something on the figurine caught my eye. I saw what looked to be a button of some sort on the bird's belly, a raised section of wood. Should I press it, I wondered? No harm in it, I decided, and pushed it in. What did I expect? A flash of light, a violent shaking? I didn't know, but absolutely nothing happened! "Stupid thing!'' I yelled and threw the cedar bird at my wall. It hit the wall with force and the left wing broke off with a crack. "Great,'' I muttered, "I've just broken the only part of Dad I've ever had at Christmas. I'm sure a loser!'' I placed the bird and broken wing on my dresser and turned out the light. Unknown to me, the Longtail's eyes glowed the whole night through. Dad came back from business about a week after Christmas, and rest of the year passed without much difference. He said nothing about his gift to me, or about my ears and feet, though the ears got bigger, feet smaller, and me shorter. I was teased relentlessly at school and I sank lower and lower into myself. The next Christmas, Dad went away again, and I was angrier than ever with him, for everything. However, after all the changes I'd been through, the biggest one came on Christmas Eve. That night, lying in the dark in my bed, I looked toward the Longtail on my dresser. This time, I noticed its glowing eyes.

"Whoa!'' I bolted upright in my bed, astonished. Slowly, I claimed out of bed, and took a few tentative steps toward the cedar figurine. I picked up the bird and its broken wing, eyes still aglow, and carefully fitted the two pieces together. A bright light traced itself along the crack and sealed the pieces together while I stood, bird in hand, amazed and disbelieving.

Fearfully moving to put the figurine back on the dresser, my finger brushed the button-like knob on its belly. This time, the ground did shake and a white light flashed before my eyes, blinding me and scaring me silly. I thought I was dead. All was quiet; there wasn't a sound to be heard. At first, there was only darkness, then, slowly, my eyes began to focus. "He's coming to,'' I head a voice state. Looking up I saw-no, it couldn't be-it was! My father was leaning over me-at least, I thought it was him. "Um, Dad, what's with your ears? And what are you wearing?'' I asked him, confused. Standing before me was a man, slightly resembling my father, but clad in a strange costume: red and white-striped tights and a green pair of what looked like overalls! Looking around, I noticed a crowd of-people around me, looking much the same, but the girls of the bunch were wearing greenish dresses. "What's going on?'' I asked, "Where am I?'' "The North Pole,'' voices chorused around me matter-of-factly, as if I was stupid. "Aw, c'mon! There's no such thing...is there?'' I asked those around me. "Dad, why are you here?'' "Come over here, son,'' my father said, taking me aside. "Back to work everyone, we've got a lot to do and you know it!'' The crowd of, well whatever they were, scattered out of sight. My father sat me down and started to explain: "Son, I know you're going to find this, well, a little hard to believe, but.'' "Whoa, Dad, in case you haven't noticed, this whole thing's just a `little hard to believe'. I've just been somehow jumped or whatever to some place from my room on Christmas Eve, when you're never around!'' I said the last words accusingly, and I could tell by the look on my father's face that they had hit him hard. "Just listen...please,'' he started again. "You've probably noticed some changes in your appearance.'' Continue on page 13 Continued from page 4 The True You By Heather Trimingham, 14 Winner, Under 18 "Yeah,'' "Like pointy ears and some shrinking, but don't worry, that's perfectly normal. Just part of the Process,'' he explained. "What, `Process', Dad? You're weirding me out!'' "Hear me out! Like I said, its part of the Process, just getting you ready for work.'' "Work?'' "Every year, as you know, I go away for business, and it's always for the holidays. I know how much it hurts you, Clara, and mom, but it's necessary. Believe me, it's necessary.'' "How, Dad? How is it necessary to hurt us all and desert us every year, without even telling us why? I needed you, you know, with all this weird stuff happening to me! Jeez, why, Dad?'' I was getting louder and angrier, and so was my father.

"Because it's your destiny!'' he bellowed, "You're an Elf, just like me, my father, and his father before him. It's a sacred line, and.'' "Whoa, Dad, chill. Whaddya mean, an Elf? Those are those little made up dudes that help out Santa and...oh...'' I suddenly understood. I understood why he was always away at Christmas; I understood why I was changing the ears, the height, the feet...wow! "Do you understand now, son? It's so important, our job, my business -- and now it's yours too! You were changing because you are an Elf; you were born one. Every year you'll come up here with me to work, and when she's old enough, so will Clara.'' "What about Mom?'' "Oh, she'll come too, when the whole family's changed,'' Dad said. "Wait! I thought Elves made toys! Shouldn't you be here the whole year then?'' I asked. "No, only some Elves work during the year; our division is on packing and preparing the sleigh and reindeer. It's very important, you know.'' Until now, I'd been sitting dumbfounded on a bench. Now I took the time to look around. Everything was colourful: we were in what looked like a break room, with funny-shaped couches and chairs everywhere. Through the golden doors was a room full of presents, piled high to the ceiling. Elves were hastily carrying more and more of them through an open door, to the sleigh, I learned later. "So what do you think, Sam?'' my dad asked me. "Wow,'' I answered him, "Who knew? But, how come you look different when you're home? What about the ears and height and stuff?'' It was true, my dad looked like me right now; short, with pointy ears, but when were at home, he was six feet tall and had normal-looking ears and feet. "Well, once you've had your first time, your body regulates itself to a schedule, and you only change right before you come to the Pole, and then, once you're back, you change back. Simple as that! Now, come on, you've got lots of learn!'' Dad led me through the workshop, where Elves were bustling here and there. Everything, everywhere, was colourful and shiny, with carols blaring through an unseen sound system. Everybody was happy and joyful-just like in the stories! And the coolest thing was that lots of them were from home, tool! For example, one of the doll-makers was Mrs. Gosling from down the street, and a train set designer was...was...the doctor! Dr.

Stokes was an elf! I was amazed, how could I have missed it? No wonder he wouldn't diagnose me-it wasn't that he couldn't, he wouldn't! Elves are everywhere, I just never knew it. But now you do! Every year I go back to help get presents out on time, and I feel like I am really a making a difference.

But when I'm back at home, I'm just Sam. Dad was right about the ears changing back and my growing taller when I'm home, but I'm still and Elf, and that'll never, ever change! PHOTO Under 18 Winner: Heather Trimingham, age 14, attends BHS.