I Believe in Santa

I believe in Santa.

When I was in sixth grade is when I finally learned the "truth." But, I still believe.

Yes--SIXTH grade. How did I find out? Well, during recess, a bunch of girls were talking about when they learned the truth. I just sat back and listened. Ah, the "truth."

I wasn't too devasted. I mean, I was almost 12. I was a little disappointed though. But, it made sense. I hadn't always got as much loot as other people--cousins, for instance. And, the previous Christmas I got a pair of dress boots that were clearly from DI. (Which, now I would love to wear, but that year I was a brat and I wouldn't. I think Mom still has them and wears them occassionally.)

Why did I believe that long? For at least two reasons.

First, I'd always got what I wanted for Christmas. I'd never had miles long lists of what I wanted. My parents always did great with Christmas.

Second, Santa came to my house. Really. I mean--REALLY. Santa came to my house while I was awake. My whole family was awake and there. We all saw Santa--and his helper. Our floor was covered by the presents Santa brought.

Now that I look back, I realize that Santa came the year my dad was laid off from the coal mine, the year our family was really struggling financially. My guess is, the two Santas didn't know the other one was going to be at our house. But, me being six years old, I would have never known that.

Because of the first two reasons, I TOTALLY agreed with all those "documentaries" explaining how Santa was real. Of course he was real! I'd seen him ON CHRISTMAS EVE!

I still believe. I love Santa. I want to be more like him.

P.S. That picture is of me sitting on my dad's lap. I mean--Santa's lap. 1983.