ThinkabaraAt the North Pole, in a stable full of hay and jingle bells, lived a small reindeer named Pip. Pip had soft brown fur, a white spot on his chest, and one big secret: he was afraid to fly.
Every evening the other reindeer leaped into the sky, laughing and looping around the moon. Pip stayed on the ground and pretended to be very busy counting snowflakes.
One snowy night, Santa came into the stable holding a lantern. “Pip,” he said kindly, “Comet has a cold this year. I need one more reindeer to pull the sleigh on Christmas Eve.”
Pip’s knees wobbled. “But Santa,” he whispered, “what if I fall?” Santa knelt down in the hay. “Then you will get up,” he said. “Flying is just like walking. Everyone wobbles at first.”
So every night, Pip practiced. First he jumped onto a haystack. Then onto the roof of the stable. Then — whoosh! — he floated for three whole seconds before bumping softly into a snowbank. The elves cheered as if he had flown to the moon.
On Christmas Eve, Pip stood in the line of reindeer, his heart going thump-thump-thump. The sleigh bells rang. Santa called, “Up, up and away!” Pip closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed off the snow.
When he opened his eyes, the whole world was below him — rooftops sparkling with lights, chimneys puffing little clouds, and stars so close he could almost touch them. Pip was flying!
All night long, Pip helped carry presents to children everywhere. And when they landed back at the North Pole, Santa patted his head. “Brave isn’t when you’re not afraid, Pip,” he said. “Brave is when you’re afraid and you try anyway.” Good night, little reindeer. Merry Christmas.