The holidays are approaching and I am reminded of the
feeling of belief. That feeling you felt
as a child in the magic of Santa and the other people and creatures that
visited us while we slept. Santa is by far the favorite. He not only flies from the North Pole on a
sleigh pulled by eight flying reindeer;
but he and his big bag of toys
fit down the chimney and fill stockings with presents, an orange, and a book of
lifesavers. He does this in a wink of time and is off to five billion other houses
all before dawn. How fabulous and
magical is that!
I was a passionate
believer in Santa Claus and the hundreds of elves working away at the North
Pole. I was beguiled by the magic of it
all. Of course I went to school and was
faced with HATERS and Special Agents questioning and searching for the truth.
They would be everywhere; leaning towards you in class and whispering, “How does
he know where to find you when you aren’t home on Christmas Eve?” Or debating
on the playground; arguing, “Where does he park the sleigh?” Some kids would bring toys they received from
Santa and would be interrogated, “Why does it say MADE IN CHINA?” or be the interrogaters, “I found
this in my mother’s closet with a Santa tag.” Still,
I stood by Santa Claus and could not be shaken.
I was a believer.
But it was bound to happen.
Santa, the North Pole, the sleigh, the reindeer, the bells, elves...all
of it would be shaken to a harsh reality.
We were spending Christmas at my grandparents. My uncle was there with a girlfriend and her
two kids. The children were around the same age as us. We were all excited because we were going to
camp on the floor by the tree in the main living room with the stockings and presents. When it came time for bed, us kids started
talking about Christmas and Santa. I
believe I recited a story my mother had recalled as a child (I may need to call
her later) about hearing the sound of the reindeer walking on the roof above
her bedroom. Right away the other two
children were telling me and my sister how the evening was going to play
out. And the scenario didn’t involve
Santa or his eight reindeer. “You wait,
when they think we are asleep, our moms are going to fill our stockings.” One
of them hissed. “Ludicrous!” I would
have shouted if I knew the word at the time. There was no way it could be true! And so I was convinced to participate in
their trickery and was talked into pretending to sleep. And sure enough (in no time at all if I am
recalling this correctly) our moms appeared from the kitchen grabbed our
stockings and filled them right there in the kitchen. I think I already knew in my heart, but I
wanted to ride the magic forever. I have
never forgotten what I got in my stocking that year. One thing that sticks out from that memory is
getting a little red devil stuffed toy.
Believing in Santa was so fun and such a heart break to let
go but I have children now and I get to believe again.
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