I remember the day that the gig was up. I was about six or seven years old and had asked my mom for some gum. She was in the shower and replied that I should go find her purse and help myself. I toddled off to her bedroom and found the mother lode: all my Christmas presents from Santa wrapped and ready to go under her bed.
Fast forward many years later and now my seven-year old is asking questions. Last week alone he asked three times if I was Santa. I asked where he heard such things. School mates of course. And then I asked why did he care? His response tickled my funny bone: “Because I need to know if I need to do this thing for my kids…”
I think he knows. But his eyes still glow with the magic of one who wants to believe in tooth fairies and Santa. I think I may dance around this one until January. I would love to get one more magical year of putting out cookies and leaving carrots for the reindeer.
Denmeister 