Memoir

Santa- Real or Not?

Presents, millions of them under the tree, some as big as I was. We had all gotten up early that day. Christmas time is my favorite holiday of the year, sometimes my favorite day too.

           

            “Mom, should I open the biggest or smallest present first?” I asked excitedly.

            

            “I don’t care, which ever one you want.”

            “This one!” I said, literally flying across the room to it. I took out the longest and heaviest one from the tree and dragged it out to the center of the room. I then looked on the label to see if it was for my little brother, Lucas or me.

It never occurred to me but those letters on the card were written in black capitol letters, the same as my parents’ handwriting. I thought about it for a while, and then I realized my facial expression was showing how out-of-holiday-spirit I was. I quickly covered it up, “Awww, I wish it was for only me.”

            “Well, not everything can be for only you,” my dad tried to cheer me up.

Nobody could ever cheer me up, I didn’t want to tell them the real reason I was sad. My brother and I zoomed through all the presents; I tried to act happy, getting all those presents, but you just can’t actually be happy when you just figured out, your favorite holiday character is not real.

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Later that day, I had just gotten out of the shower when I caught mom walking down the long, green, hallway “Mom! I need to ask you a question.”

“Ok, what is it?” she said walking towards me. I slowly started to walk towards her.

“Ummm, I can’t let Lucas hear it,” we were standing right in front of his room.

“Ok, let’s go to your room.” We walked down the hallway for what seemed like forever into my room and sat on my bed. My hands started to sweat.

“Ummm, is Santa real?” I felt weird asking my mom that, it wasn’t the best way to start a conversation with your parents

“Ummm,” she was kind of awkward with it to.

“I realized it was your handwriting on the tags from the presents,” I said trying to urge her on. As I waited for her to talk, my bright yellow room seemed to get smaller and darker.

“No,” She dropped her head feeling ashamed; she thought it was to early in my life to know that, “Me and your father are Santa.”