I was thinking about Santa the other day.
I can remember the exact day that I found out he didn’t exist. I was in 1st grade, and my classmate Charles told me that Santa was really my Mom and Dad. WTF? I was so surprised – I had absolutely no idea. I truly believed the big man in red came down our chimney (though it was always lit on Christmas Eve – I never questioned that part) with a huge sack of gifts, ate my delicious treats, and made it to the rest of the world all while we slept.
I got over it, but I never told my parents. I was afraid to confront them with this new information, as I feared it would make Christmas less special. I loved rushing home from my grandparents’ house, listening to my parents say that they think they see his sleigh in the sky and we’d better rush to bed. Even though I knew they were full of shit, it was fun. Going to sleep with nothing under the tree and waking up to a room full of presents was something I didn’t plan to give up without a fight.
I was entering 4th grade when my only sibling was born. Of course for his first few Christmases, he was oblivious. But, by the time he started to believe in Santa, I still hadn’t confessed to my parents that I knew they were Good Ole St. Nick. Now, I’d like to think they knew I was smarter than this. I hope they figured out that I must have learned the truth. To this day, I wonder why the hell they never told me or mentioned it at all, but I digress…
When my brother was in full Santa mode, so was I. I’ve never asked anyone in my family, but I bet my relatives thought I was a complete moron leaving Grandma’s on Christmas Eve to ‘beat Santa home.’ I had to be 13 or 14 years old and still putting on the act!
Looking back, it really did make Christmas more fun. But, I really think I need to know if Mom and Dad truly believed that I believed…I can’t believe it took my younger brother (my 9 years younger brother!!) to grow out of Santa before I would give it up, too. Then again, these are the same people who never told me my pets died until I came home and they were no longer there. Tough conversations are not really their specialty, and I can imagine this ‘talk’ is pretty tough.
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At least you really did have it figured out. I had to be nearing 12 or 13 before my parents told me and I cried like a baby. They couldn’t believe that I still thought the whole thing was real. Broke my heart. (now who’s the moron *raising hand*)
Ok stop telling me he doesn’t exist. I still believe.
I dreaded when the Santa days were over for my kids….
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Too funny! Good idea to keep up the act though. I believed 100% until my 9th Bday (which happened to be Easter that year). I was devastated!! I hope my kids believe for a long time!
I dread the day they don’t believe – we’ve been using the Santa threat effectively for months…
My brother, who is four years older than me, told me when I was six. I didn’t believe him until I was seven and saw my grandmother carrying a package that the next morning was to me from Santa. I played along for another two years until my parents finally told me. And I told them I’d known. I think I also didn’t want to spoil it for them.
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I still believe! Can’t stop me! (-: