Who remembers when you no longer believed that a fat, bearded guy in a red suit didn't actually slide down your home's chimney and deliver gifts to you via a sleigh drawn by a crew of reindeer on Christmas Eve?
I think I was 6 or 7 when the impossibility of it all just dawned on me. Nothing traumatic. Big Bore, on the other hand, is still suffering from the reality.
"When I found out there wasn't really a Santa Claus, I was pissed!" he said the other night.
"How old were you?" I asked.
"Oh, 12," I think.
"That old?" I laughed incredulously.
"Okay. Maybe 10," he said.
"That old?" I asked again. "How'd you get the bad news?"
"One of my brothers told me. I don't remember which one. Man, I was so mad."
"What'd you say?" I asked.
"You're lying! That can't be right! I heard Santa and his reindeer on the roof! If there isn't a Santa, then where do the presents come from? --And then he told me from Mom and Dad. Man, was I pissed!"
"Well, I hope you'll get over it," I said as he stuck out his lower lip.
Since Santa's boy had to work today, we opened presents last night and watched my favorite Christmas movie, A Christmas Story, and Big Bore's favorite, It's a Wonderful Life." We opened gifts, ate some popcorn, listened to some Christmas music, then went outside to look at the lights on the porch before pulling the plug and calling it a silent night.
We wish you and your loved ones a Merry Christmas, and may a little bit of Santa Claus remain in us all.
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