I’m not going to tell you how old I was when I found out that Santa Claus wasn’t real. It’s too embarrassing. Like, Phoebe from Friends embarrassing (remember Joey tells Phoebe that Santa Claus doesn’t exist in the episode where she hates PBS?) Yeah, I was around that old (okay, not that old. I was still a kid. But still…)
Santa was never that big of a deal at our house. We each had a stocking (and they are awesome stockings!) and we always had presents “from Santa” in them. The main presents were always from our parents, but Santa came every year and he had Chocolate Chip Cookies and milk waiting for him on the table every year. And they were always gone the next morning.
Every Christmas morning was so magical. The Christmas Tree had all the lights lit up and all the us kids would get up so early and we would sneak into the den and undo the stockings. We would wait patiently for my parents to wake up, we would bounce up and down in our seats impatiently through the prayers and lighting of the Advent candles, and then we would settle down into the routine of opening presents.
We were never allowed to open the presents all at once. It was always done one at a time, youngest to oldest. It was always really neat to watch my siblings open presents, especially the presents that I knew that they really really wanted. This slow process of opening presents taught us to be involved in the gift of experiencing other people’s joy. That was the greatest lesson I learned on those Christmas mornings.
Then one Christmas, when I was old enough to start paying attention to what was going on in the “adult world,” I was watching my mom open one of her presents from Santa in her stocking. My dad was watching her open it too, but my sibs were playing with their toys. My dad starting asking my mom questions once she got it open. He was asking her if it was what she wanted, if it was too heavy or too light, and then he said, “When I was shopping for it I wasn’t sure if this was the one you wanted or not.”
Dun, dun, dun….That’s when it clicked. Santa wasn’t real.
There was always something so magical about Christmas when I was a kid. Almost as though they were straight out of a story book. Christmases after “Santa wasn’t real” were still very special, but more grown up (for a lack of a better phrase.)
The thing I’m loving about having my own child is that some of that childhood magic is coming back and I get to be a part of it again. Though Lboy is only 18 months, I feel that enchantment coming when you experience Christmas through a child’s eyes.
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| I think it’s Christmas when I’m 3 here. I just remembering loving this dress! |
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| I was between 4-6 in this pic (I’m holding my lil sister.) Notice our matching dresses? |
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| This is the same Christmas as the first picture. I just remember how special this dress was-I loved the lace & the buttons. |
I think I stopped believing in Santa when I was about 6 because I asked him to make my parents get back together after they had divorced. It was all I wanted that year and they didn't so I stopped believing he was real. I was little. Then Dad got remarried and I got really mad at Santa. But mom convinced me it was the spirit of giving and loving and sharing and santa was in all of us and that kind of stuff so… yeah whatever! LOL
I am loving experiencing it again with my kids. My 12 year old still believes. My 9 year old too. They love the magic of Christmas.
I found out in fourth grade, one day after school. Of course, I played myself as the cool kid who knew all along, but inwardly I was devastated. Dorky, I know. I never let on to my parents that I knew, and they played Santa until I left the house.
The girl that lived next door to me told me in the 1st grade. She ended up getting pregnant when she was 14. Somehow I think those two things are related. She didn't believe in Santa but she believed her husband was made infertile by a bicycle accident.
I would have gladly kept up appearances until I became a Mom myself, but one year I got up and there were no presents under the tree. My mother says, "hang on a minute" and goes to the closet where she has the gifts in plastic grocery bags. My childhood wonderment died that morning.
I have been thinking about the Santa question quite a bit lately. While I think I have another "bye" year with the girls being not quite two, I'm trying to think through some details about how I'll position things to them, I guess starting next year.
My latest thinking is that they'll get one "special" present from Santa, along with a stocking. The rest of the gifts will be from Mommy and Daddy. I wonder if that was part of what kept you believing? That it wasn't such a gigantic stretch to believe that Santa could bring every single toy to every boy and girl?
I definitely want to incorporate some of the "magic" of the Big Guy into the girls' holiday, but I don't want to overdo it, either. There's something about the "he sees you when you're sleeping" line that's kinda creepy to me, too! HA!
I think you are exactly right, the lack of emphasis on Santa is probably what made me believe in him for so long. He only brought us a few small stuff in our stockings. I think there were a couple of years that he brought us something big for the whole family that was really fun! But all the presents were generally from my parents.
I think Todd and I are going to do it like my parents did. We don't have to worry about this year, I don't if we will next year or not. He will be a little over 2 1/2 next year, I have no idea how that will work. lol I do know that I need to get him a stocking!
You crack me up about the creepy line-I never thought about it like that and now I will think that every time I hear it! haha