The Sun Journal asked readers and staffers to share some of their favorite Christmas memories, and we’ll run them one more day. Today: Christmas in Rome, a blind man’s hope restored and hearing reindeer on the roof.

And away we go!

“The traveling Horvaths were touring Europe for a year in 1970 in a new 25-foot motor home. My father, Louis, had been granted a sabbatical and convinced the maker of the motor home that if they sold him an RV at cost, he would take photos of it all over Europe, in front of the many landmarks we would be visiting. We each packed a duffel bag of stuff and our textbooks plus a year’s worth of toilet paper.

“We were using Frommer’s ‘Europe on $5 a Day’ as our traveling bible, and mostly self-toured. We found ourselves in Rome and the Vatican City at Christmastime. I was 15 and as the trusted researcher on the finer points of travel, I had found a listing in that book under ‘Free Tours’ about a certain order of multilingual Dutch Catholic nuns, the Foyer Unitas, who cater to only non-Catholics. We were at that time actually parked and living right IN St. Peter’s square. The guards got such a kick out of our motor home, they just let us be.

“The nuns were delighted to give us the royal treatment. We also were invited to a wonderful Christmas party in the Pamphili Palace, and the nuns got us into a ‘private’ papal audience with hundreds of other people. One odd thing I remember, they had told us ‘no cameras,’ but we saw people pulling them out of hiding all over. My brother reached out and touched Pope Paul as he walked by!

“When I think back, it just makes me awed by my parents’ commitment to educate their children in such a unique way.”

Wendy J. Newmeyer, West Paris

Saving Christmas

“Many years ago, I was hit with an unbelievable streak of bad luck. I had three young daughters, a mortgage and owned a small business. In September I suffered a viral infection that took my eyesight away. Consequently, I had to shut down my business, which led to a foreclosure, and we were penniless.

“I had the unpleasant task of telling my girls that Christmas would be without Santa Claus that year. Needless to say, I had about given up on life and was exploring ways to leave this world.

“Then, just three days before Christmas, a pickup truck drove up to my house, and a couple of my American Legion buddies came to the door. Not only did they bring a Christmas tree but also a truck full of toys for my kids.

“It was a great Christmas, and on that Christmas Day my eyesight began to come back, perhaps brought on by tears of joy.”

Al Pelletier, Norway

Is he here yet?

“Last Christmas I shared one of my favorite childhood memories about my grandmother, Nana, spending the night in my room one Christmas Eve and being giddy and giggly with me for hours as we swore, swore, we heard those reindeer feet on the roof. After she saw the memory, she reminded me of the part of the story I’d forgotten: After my parents got tired of me repeatedly leaving the room to check in — Had Santa come? Were there presents? — she volunteered to sneak out and keep up the pestering, deflecting their increasing irritation, updating the present status and keeping our good time going.

“‘I didn’t care if they yelled at me,’ she’d said with a grin.

“As a grandmother, there was never any question that she would do anything, even throwing herself in front of a hurtling faux-sleigh, for me.

“She died one month later. This is our first Christmas without her, and she’s sorely missed.”

Kathryn Skelton, SJ staff writer

Listening, waiting

“When I was young, about 6, I remember peeking out my bedroom door.

“It was Christmas Eve, and my brothers were asleep in the next room. I couldn’t see much through the crack of the door. But I could hear laughter and boxes and plastic being opened.

“I didn’t want to get caught looking, so I would climb back into bed and wait for the next time I felt brave.

“I would get up and look out the window and up at the sky to see if I could see Santa in his sleigh and his reindeer leading the way.

“I remember at one point, I thought I heard bells. I ran to the window and stretched to see if I could see Santa.

“I didn’t. I climbed back into bed. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke the next morning, Santa had come and gone. He left behind toys and clothes. He must have enjoyed his cookies and milk. The plate and glass were empty. Even the carrots left out for his reindeer were gone.

“I don’t remember looking for Santa again. But he always came by to brighten our lives for Christmas.”

Donna Perry, SJ staff writer