I was a bit older when I learned the sad truth, fourth grade to be exact, so I would have just turned nine, and it was pretty close to Christmas. That damn Frank Bronson. I defended my belief practically to the death and then marched home to tell my Mother, who informed me that he was, in fact, correct. It went something like this, in that lovely tone she had. "Well Joanmarie, what did you think?" (evil woman) Just like that, the magic was gone.
That was not a good Christmas. My younger siblings still believed, and I had been warned to keep it that way. I have vivid memories of the Christmas prior to that one where we tried to stay awake to catch Santa, creeping down the stairs at intervals to keep watch, sneaking a flashlight upstairs with us, and entertaining ourselves with shadow puppets on the ceiling. Jerry and Katy wanted to do the same thing this particular year and I just couldn't bring myself to participate. Heartbroken, I told them they were on their own and went to sleep.
Shortly after that my youngest brother, David, was old enough to grasp the concept of Santa, and Christmas became fun again. I really do prefer the magic and the giving over the gifts. Although all gifts are greatly appreciated and accepted. :) I even wrote a little note to Santa, because I believe! As I informed "The Artist Formerly Known As Pablo" last Christmas, "If you do not believe, you do not receive." That sure changed his tune fast!
Christmas is one week away, and being the host of the dinner, working full time, finishing up gifts, and just life in general are all trying to Grinch me out, but it isn't going to happen. I am going to keep the spirit of Christmas in my heart and maybe a little rum chatta in my coffee. ;) Ho ho ho!
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