Ah Christmas. When I was a little girl, I loved the holiday. My parents and I would watch all the holiday classics, “Frosty the Snowman”, “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” On Christmas Eve, we’d bake Santa some chocolate chip cookies and leave a glass of milk out for him. Tucked into bed, I’d listen to my mom and dad read Twas The Night Before Christmas. I had heard it so many times that I knew the story word for word. It was my favorite Christmas book.
When I was five, I faked falling asleep after hearing Twas The Night Before Christmas. Nothing could stop me from seeing Santa that night. I got out of bed and crawled on the floor to the door entrance. I hid behind the wall, sometimes peeking my head out. My bedroom was right beside the living room with the Christmas tree in plain view.
Later that night, I witnessed my parents wrapping and putting presents under the tree. They were laughing and enjoying each others’ company. It paid to be quiet as a mouse because they never noticed me peeking at them. I was disappointed when Santa never arrived. Since we didn’t have a chimney, silly me thought he’d knock on the door.
The next morning (Christmas day yea!), they found me asleep on the floor by my door. They put me back into bed and let me sleep for a little while longer. Eventually, I woke up and opened all my presents. I was an only child, so I was always spoiled with A LOT of gifts. All labels said ‘from Santa.’ But he was never there, and I had seen my parents wrapping the same gifts. Did they lie to me? Did Santa not exist?
Realizing Santa didn’t exist at the age of five is probably the reason I grew up to be such a realist (a.k.a. pessimist or negative nancy) hee hee.
P.S. L.M. Sherwin is participating in the Christmas Blog Event too.