“Twas the week before Christmas…”
I don’t recall how old I was when I began to doubt the whole Santa Claus thing, but I know I was pretty young. I was a precocious kid to begin with, so when I began to put 2 + 2 together, it just wasn’t coming out 4.
For starters, if Santa was up at the North Pole making toys, then how come you kept seeing him at all those department stores, in parades and on street corners ringing bells? Shouldn’t he be off working somewhere? My father tried to convince me, “Those are his elves,” dispatched as emissaries apparently to make all those public appearance dates.
And speaking of toys, how come we saw so many commercials on tv? Again, Mom and Dad were quick with the spin control. “Santa farms out some of the toy manufacturing in order to meet the demand.”
Ok, semi-plausible to a 6 year old. But then other stuff still didn’t add up.
If Santa comes down chimneys, how did he get into our house? We didn’t have a chimney. If he came to the front door, he’d have to ring the bell and my bedroom was right near the doorbell. I never heard nothin’!
How does he make it to every house in the world in one night? And how does he tell the Christian houses from the Jewish houses or the Moslem houses or just the people who don’t celebrate Christmas? Something was fishy.
It started to become really obvious to me that this was all a racket run by a big eastern syndicate, when Mom would tell us to look through the Spiegel Christmas catalog and decide what we wanted. Then unmarked boxes would show up weeks or days before Christmas and she’d go to great pains to hide them from us.
So one day I sat her down for a heart to heart. I made sure to do it in private, in case my younger brother wasn’t as hip. “Mom, is there really a Santa Claus?” I asked.
“What do you think?” was her clever way of shifting responsibility for this momentous revelation.
I expressed my serious reservations, she confirmed them and that was that. I was no longer a child.
I was advised to keep it to myself because not only was my little brother clueless (but not for long), but so were other kids, and she didn’t think it was fair to spoil it for them. Good thing I listened too because one day, walking home from school, two of my best friends and I got into it and our opinions were all over the map. One of them still believed, while the other was also a non-believer, in Santa anyway. “But I still believe in the Easter Bunny” he said most confidently. (Ok, I never once believed in big rabbits delivering eggs or for that matter, fairies doling out money for your baby teeth, but who was I to ruin it for him.)
Ever since that fateful day, this holiday has never been the same. That sense of surprise, as you wake up Christmas morning to see what Santa brought, is gone. I know ahead of time whether or not I’m going to get anything or not and pretty much what it is. As I’ve reached adulthood (ok, middle age) I am able to get most of the things I want and need myself.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t still enjoy getting gifts. And you can help restore my lost sense of wonder by visiting my wishlist and picking out something you think I’d really like!
C’mon, you knew this was all leading up to my annual appeal, didn’t you?
Happy Holidays!
Posted by bernie at December 18, 2006 7:28 PMWhat a cool way to ask your devoted fans (I am one) for a gift. I have rushed to your wishlist and only wish i could see your christmas eyes when you open it.
Adarro
www.actualny.com
How funny! I think I would have thought the same things you did had I grew (or "growed" as heard by Beyonce on Oprah) up believing in Santa Claus! And I had a friend that believed in the Easter Bunny too...how strange.
Posted by: Darbs at December 19, 2006 8:32 PMBernie ...
you are completely precious. I just wanna squeeze you. Hope all your dreams come true this holiday season.
Posted by: taylor Siluwé at December 21, 2006 10:16 AMLOL! You got me. Visit my wishlist. hehehe! Nice lead up
Posted by: Shawn at December 21, 2006 7:04 PM