“Aha, I thought so!” It was Christmas Eve. I was nine years old and feigning sleep when I saw my father sneak into the bedroom and pull a pogo stick out of the top of the closet. I knew it was mine. All I really wanted for Christmas that year was a pogo stick and I was expecting Santa to bring it for me. I guess by nine I had realized that Santa needed help to deliver all those toys. It made sense that my father would be helping to deliver my gift. It was comforting to have my suspicions confirmed.
In our family we all still believe in Santa Claus. If you stop believing you don’t get any presents. There is still magic in Christmas because in my heart of hearts I believe in Santa Claus.
Do you believe in Santa? Were you traumatized or did you know anyone who was traumatized when they discovered mom and dad’s role in helping Santa?
1 comment:
Oh, mom, I wanted to believe the rest of my life and I was at least in the 6th grade when I found out. I don't really even remember finding out so I guess I just figured it out. It was the most magical time in my life. I remember such excitement and surprise when the gifts appeared. My family worked hard to keep the secret and perpetuate the myth!
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