The holiday season always tends to make me a bit nostalgic and yesterday my husband and I re-visited one of our favorite themes for Christmas. We got to reminiscing about how we found out that there was no Santa Claus. I think I may have exceeded the threshold for Santa believability. It wasn't until the springtime AFTER Christmas when I was in 3rd grade that I even got a whiff that Santa might not be real. I mean, I was nine years old at that point. I still remember the punch in the gut feeling when one of my blabbermouth school chums laid this tidbit on me.
My husband said he thinks the reason I went so long believing is because I just wanted to believe. I said, no, I absolutely had never even had a doubt. My parents and my older sister had me and my younger sister and brother completely reeled in on the Santa fantasy. And we loved it. Christmas Eve night we were beside ourselves with exitement. Santa, he was The Man. I swear, the only way my parents could have worked us into a higher state of bliss would have been to have someone outside the house shake some sleighbells. That would have just sent us over the top. We would never have slept!
Last year my then five year old granddaughter had a schoolmmate trying to insert herself into the fantasy by making fun of Santa. The nerve! So I managed to eke out another year of believability for my granddaughter by explaining in a very serious tone that kids who don't believe in Santa don't get a visit from Santa. I'm pretty sure that worked.
It's such a short time that kids get to believe in something. I wish I could go back to that myself. Christmas when you're a kid...good times.
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