We thought Blitzen and Rudolph were Santa’s favorite helpers until we met Priscilla and Percival, Atlanta’s flying pigs. They landed at the corner of Alabama and Broad every Thanksgiving and flew children around Rich’s Great Tree. Adorned with glowing, colored lights the size of basketballs, the 75-foot white pine reached high in the night sky where it stood atop the Crystal Bridge. Our first glimpse of it riding into downtown on I-85 brought an assortment of yells, as our feet kicked uncontrollably at the back of our parent’s seat. The Pink Pig was more than a Christmas tradition, it was the main event, along with Baby Jesus and Santa. At Christmas, the Divine Trinity expanded to the Divine Many, when the Father, Son and Holy Ghost had helpers—Santa, his flying reindeer and pigs.

Of course, the ride started in the Toy Store, a transformational place of worship. I jumped like Hallelujah at the sight of a Johnny Lightning 500 race track. My little sisters knelt in reverence at the Fisher Price doll house with the working door bell. As we wound through the store on our way to the Pigs, we made our list for Santa who would be waiting when we exited the ride. Between takeoff and touchdown, Percy and Prissy flew around the top of the store giving you a flying pig’s eye view of the meaning of Christmas, then out onto the rooftop into their little village, then all around the great, glowing, gleaming tree. Magical... Spiritual... Unforgettable. But just in case you were to forget or think you dreamed the whole thing, Santa gave you a picture of yourself in his lap and a sticker that said, I rode the Pink Pig.