I am strangely interested in stories about the belief in Santa and how the myth was dispelled. Most children find out from their cynical and jaded peers or their cruel siblings. I found out, innocently from my mother as we were cruising down Turk Hill Road on a cold and dreary upstate New York February day. I say, innocently because my mother assumed I didn’t believe in Santa at my age! As her eyes were on the road she said, “Amy, there is something in my purse that I meant to put in your Christmas stocking (or wooden shoes!). I opened her purse and staring back at me was a Raggedy Anne coin purse. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it, but I couldn’t get past the fact that my mom so casually intimated that Santa did not exist. This felt cold and insensitive, matching the weather that existed outside of the warm and safe car. My parents went through great lengths to perpetuate the myth with participation from my siblings who were 5, 11 and 12 years older than me. My parents would place footprints in the fireplace and exclaim on Christmas morning, “Look, Amy, Santa does come down the chimney, he left his boot prints in the ashes.” I squealed like a little pig, I was so enchanted and intrigued by the mystery!” I don’t recall discussing the belief or non belief with my peers, perhaps I subconsciously avoided that conversation. Or it could be I was in such denial that, for self preservation it was never a topic placed in my realm for debate. The belief was fun while it lasted.
I recall being quietly devastated while traveling down the road sitting with the fog of my mothers nonchalance. I glanced at her and I looked at the Raggedy Anne coin purse. I stared at the zipper that ran across the top of her head where I would greedily deposit my coins or the crushed memories of belief. I said to myself, “ I can’t believe there is no Santa Claus?!”
My mother and I never discussed the incident until years later when I was a full fledged adult. I expressed to her how devastated I was. My devastation was mainly related to the insensitivity of the milestone on the journey to overrated adulthood. Her response was: “Amy you were 10 years old! I was fairly confident that you didn’t actually believe!” Well, I did believe and the truth dimmed my excitement around the anticipation of Christmas and the presents placed carefully under the tree by an overachieving bearded merry maker.
Christmas became a more mature and adult celebration. The spark was reignited for me as my wounds of deception healed. It is a wonderful time of the year. My parents always created a festive mood in the house which revolved around food, decorations, drink and friends and family.
It is also a special time of the year since people are, for the most part happy and charitable! We look forward to sharing our warmth with you at Out of the Fire. If you happen to bring your little ones we will happily assist you in perpetuating the magical belief in Santa! Happy holidays to all of you!
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