I lost the magic of Christmas when I was about eight. I guess I just got too smart. That’s usually what happens, right? The child’s brain starts to use logic and reason and the next thing you know – poof. The magic of Christmas is all over, never to return. At least not in the same way.
I must be more scarred than the average person because I remember the exact moment the innocence of youth came crashing down on me.
In December of 1979 my family and I spent our first Christmas in our new home in Sioux City, Iowa. The ranch style house included a finished basement with a fake fireplace that was actually just a space heater.
In an effort to make things convenient for Santa, I convinced my parents to set up the Christmas tree downstairs near the “fireplace.” Apparently at that time I had yet to fully comprehend the reality of our new home’s fireplace. I think just the idea of having what was kind-of-sorta a fireplace was mesmerizing to me. It felt like we were taking part in “Twas the Night Before Christmas.”
On Christmas Eve we returned home from my grandparents house with the hope that Santa Claus had already dropped in and delivered the goods. My five-year-old brother and I helped my mother unload the car while my dad slipped inside the house. When we were near the front door a few minutes later, we could hear him shouting up from the basement.
“Brad! Brian! Get down here quick! Santa’s here and he’s leaving!”
We dashed inside the house and bolted down the steps as fast as our legs would carry us. This was it. I was finally going to catch a glimpse of the elusive big red guy in action. What would I say to him?
“Stop!”
No, that would be weird.
“Did you like the cookies?”
He ate some of them every year but often said he had to save room for cookies at other houses.
“Can I say hi to Rudolph?”
I had grown quite fond of that reindeer. He always looked so cute every year on his TV special.
When we reached the bottom of the steps and turned the corner to the room with the Christmas tree, Santa was nowhere in sight. Instead, my father stood alone in front of the tree amidst a pile of wrapped presents.
“You just missed him. He said he had to keep moving and left through the fireplace.” He pointed at the space heater.
I walked over to that fake fireplace and bent down on one knee. Opening the mesh screen, I stuck my hand inside. There was no opening – nowhere that anyone or anything could go.
I was confused and yet, I wasn’t. Logic was starting to take over and I was fighting it. I fought it hard.
I reasoned that Santa was a magical person and that’s how he was able to use a fake fireplace to deliver presents and exit to his sleigh. But the law of reason slammed down on me like an anvil.
Magic isn’t real, you dummy. Don’t you get it?
Once things sunk in it was a massive blow to my existence. I had been lied to by the people I trusted the most – my parents. Why would they do such a thing?
Of course I now realize they did it because…that’s what everyone does. But does that make it okay? Because it sure doesn’t make it any less false, does it?
As I write this I feel like I’m going down yet another rabbit hole that could be dangerous for all of us. Let me leave you with a few things to ponder on your own.
You will never again be the pure wholesome youth that you were before realizing the truth about Santa Claus. It is the first giant step into adulthood.
The world is cloudy and full of deceit and your parents prepared you for it…by lying to you for several years and then telling you the truth and asking for your continued trust.
If you were one of those kids who needed to be told the truth about Santa (around the age of eleven or twelve) because you were too busy enjoying the sugar plums dancing in your head to realize what was going on right under your nose, well….you might be reading the wrong newspaper.
The bottom line? The old bait and switch happens all the time in our world. Keep your brain on a swivel, folks. It doesn’t end with Saint Nick.
(Reach Brad Carl via email to bradjcarl@gmail.com)