My son looked me straight in the eyes last week, and boldly blurted out that he knows Santa Claus doesn’t exist. I didn’t know how to react, especially because every year, I complain about the fat, jolly, white bearded man that gets all the credit for flying his pimped out sleigh around the world in less than eight hours to squeeze through chimneys, climb fire escapes and climb through basement windows to leave gifts that his underpaid elves built…just for all the well behaved and deserving children of the world. I stand to the side every year as my child rips through all the gifts that me and babe buy with our hard earned money…only to give a man that I have yet to meet face to face, the credit for brilliantly knowing every detail of my child’s greatest desires and wants.
So I should be happy that I no longer have to put up the charade and act as if Santa Claus exists – right? Well, that’s a tough pill to swallow…especially since my childhood memories are so close to the forefront of my mind, and I can remember every detail about Christmas as a child. The magical notion that sleigh bells rang throughout the thick darkness of the midnight hour as families slept through the night, and everything on my wish list appeared under the Christmas tree. Christmas was the most happiest, magical, spiritual and exciting time in my life as a child. I remember life being so hopeful and bright. Everyone around me seemed joyful.
Read more about Jahzara’s Santa Claus dilemma.
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