The truth hurts.
Me, at about 9 years old: "Seriously, Mom. I know Santa isn't real. So just tell me the truth. Do you and Dad pretend to be Santa and put the presents out?" My lip was quivering as I tried to make my voice sound normal from the back seat of my mom's station wagon. It was a stroke of genius to ask when my mom couldn't actually see my face.
My mom must have been trying to read my voice and wasn't sure how to respond. "Honey, you know Santa comes every year." She was stalling.
"MOM! I already know. Just tell me." I was pleading with her for the truth on the outside, but inside, I was willing the fantasy to be real for just one more year.
She sighed and glanced at me over her shoulder. My face was hot as I leaned forward, putting my arms on the front seat. She began. "Dad and I get the gifts and put them out each year. But we do it to honor the spirit of Santa Claus, St. Nick, who gave without seeking thanks in return. Santa really does live on, every time we give others happiness at Christmas time. But is there a North pole factory with elves and flying reindeer? No."
Me, with my heart in my throat, sinking back in my seat, "Oh, well, that's what I already knew." Our eyes met through the rear view mirror and I forced a smile.
I probably added something to make her think that I was okay, like, "It must be fun to pretend to be Santa every year."
And she was probably relieved and said something like, "We can still put out the cookies and milk if you want."
And I probably looked out the window and said, "Sure."
My mom must have been trying to read my voice and wasn't sure how to respond. "Honey, you know Santa comes every year." She was stalling.
"MOM! I already know. Just tell me." I was pleading with her for the truth on the outside, but inside, I was willing the fantasy to be real for just one more year.
She sighed and glanced at me over her shoulder. My face was hot as I leaned forward, putting my arms on the front seat. She began. "Dad and I get the gifts and put them out each year. But we do it to honor the spirit of Santa Claus, St. Nick, who gave without seeking thanks in return. Santa really does live on, every time we give others happiness at Christmas time. But is there a North pole factory with elves and flying reindeer? No."
Me, with my heart in my throat, sinking back in my seat, "Oh, well, that's what I already knew." Our eyes met through the rear view mirror and I forced a smile.
I probably added something to make her think that I was okay, like, "It must be fun to pretend to be Santa every year."
And she was probably relieved and said something like, "We can still put out the cookies and milk if you want."
And I probably looked out the window and said, "Sure."
posted by Sarah at 3:39 PM
4 Comments:
This is really well written, Sarah.
It is interesting to reflect on our childhood. I remember feeling the same betrayal... So how will you handle the issue now that you have kids? Is there a Santa?
My original plan with this post was to write about the connundrum of dealing with the whole Santa thing now that I am a mom. I was half way done with it when I realized that the anecdote really needs to speak for itself, for now. There will be more later. Thanks for reading!
Love it! I feel like I was in the car with you. My parents still haven't admitted that Santa isn't real...every year I still get a present or two from "St. Nick." We all know better, but it is still fun! I love the way that Pops said it.
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