It’s December 2010 and we are but a couple of days away from Christmas.  As a child, despite countless classes of catechism, and numerous observations of a baby in a manger, this was a time when we could ask for something and receive what we wanted.  

The kicker, you had to write to Santa and let him know.  The list.

Every year around this time, my sister and I would write these letters hoping to receive a My Size Barbie and Stretch Armstrong respectively.  Every Christmas morning, we’d wake up, run to the living room and find two piles of presents resting right smack dab in the middle of the living room.  Soon, the room would be filled with the rest of my family while Alexander O’neal was belting out “Sleigh Ride” in the background, soon to be followed by Donnie Hathaway’s “This Christmas” and Nat King Cole’s “A Christmas Song”.  Needless to say it was a joyous time filled with love, laughter, and innocence.  But soon innocence would be lost.

One Christmas morning I awoke to the noise of anticipation blasting from the living room.  I looked over to the side to see if my sister had awaken from her slumber.  She was fast asleep nestled in between my parents.  This was the perfect time for me to observe the glory that is my pile of presents before she got to see hers.  I vacated my bed and slowly but surely made my way to the living room to find a tree, gifts, cookies, stockings, and emptiness.  There was no pile of presents to be found for me or my sister.  Of course this required immediate attention.  I sprinted back to my parents room and woke my dad up.  

I remember telling him Santa did not come.  He kept his calm, looked at me straight in the eye and lied to me.  He told me Santa had not finished dropping off presents yet and that if I didn’t go back to bed, Santa would not drop them off.  Needless to say, some shut eye was in store.  

My sister and I slept in the same room as my parents on our own beds, because my older brothers occupied the other bedrooms.  So my parents had to be real careful if they wanted to hide stuff from us.

Anyways, my dad waited a while, I’m sure to see if I would go to sleep.  Yes, I did shut my eyes, but no I was not sleeping.  He eventually left the room as I observed from my bed.  I waited and wondered, “hmmm, is he going to meet Santa right now?”  They say curiosity killed the cat, and this cat was about to be murdered.  I tip-toed my way to the door to glance in the living room.  Everything that was present before, was still there, emptiness and all, including my father, two black plastic bags, and him filling them with gifts from under the tree.  

I was dumbfounded.  

If this were a video game and I had a status bar for innocence, it was on E, and there was no restoration.  

I made my way back to my bed and laid there until my father returned.  I did not notify my sister, there was no reason to kill her buzz.

Eventually I told my dad I caught him playing Santa.  All he told me was, as long as I keep “believing”  Kris Kringle, I will keep getting gifts from him.  So for about two years I kept “believing” Señor Kringle.  As I look back on this now, he told me this so that my sister could keep her childhood a little longer.  After about two years I realized that if I just came out and said I did not believe in Santa, of course I would not get gifts, but instead a lot of cards.  Christmas cards galore to be exact. This was better because, with cards, came cold hard cash.

Merry Christmas everybody, and Happy New Year.