I found this old photo of my younger brother and me the other day. It is interesting to look at. My brother doesn’t look comfortable at all. He is probably looking at my mom thinking, “can I get off of this stranger’s lap?” I seem very serious. I am holding a card in my hand, one that I was going to give it to Santa, most likely.
I was thinking about the facade of Santa. Did you believe in Santa as a child? I completely and totally did. I fell for the the whole delusion hook, line, and sinker. Christmas morning was always magical. My brother, whose bedroom was downstairs in our split level house, would sneak up to my room, peeking at the living room on the way up to see what had been left there. Then he would give me a report. We both would be so excited we could hardly stand it, so we would sneak down to the living room and find our presents. We were very good about not opening them. I would feel around the wrapping and try to guess what the present was. Finally my family would get up, my dad being the last. Then the fun would begin. It was always a very magical and fun morning.
The day I found out that Santa didn’t exist I was in 3rd grade. Somebody on the bus had just found out the truth and decided to spoil it for the rest of us. I couldn’t believe it. It just couldn’t be right. Santa wasn’t real? no way. I don’t remember being upset or angry at my parents for lying to me, though. It was more like the feeling that you get when you have an awakening. The blinders come off and you can see the truth. The facade crumbles and the reality is revealed. It was disappointing. But learning the truth also meant that I was getting older. And feeling older, when you are in elementary school, was always a good thing. ♥