In 1978, a young boy was sleepless on Christmas Eve, picked up a red felt-tip pen, and began writing what turned out to be a poem about the real reason for Christmas. The poem was tucked away inside a memory book for many years. When that poem resurfaced and was read by the now grown adult, the wheels started churning. Wheels that were heading in the direction of a dream. A dream that parents, godparents, aunts, uncles, babysitters, and even friends would be able to read an entertaining and also meaningful bedtime story to those deserving children in their lives. This is that poem. This is that story.