Spoiler Alert: Santa's Not Real
Staff Writer Kermille Brown

By now, we have all grown up and come to terms with the realization that Jolly Old Saint Nick was none other than our very own parents when we were children. In my case, I’m him. Yet to an eight-year old child, Santa Claus is the fat guy with the shaggy white beard and small-rimmed glasses that bellows “Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!” in the middle of the mall while hundreds of moms and dads usher their children up to sit on his lap and tell him what they want for Christmas.

It was my eighth Christmas when I found out Santa wasn’t real. My sister and I had set out milk, cookies and reindeer food and left the lights on so Santa could find his way to our house. My sister, who is four years older than I, knew the secret of Christmas, but I wouldn’t find out until later on that night. Every year I would always try to wait up to see Santa, but every year I fell asleep before he had arrived. Not this year; I was determined to see him do his magic.

Just after 9 p.m., I finally jumped into bed and lay awake for what seemed like days listening to the crackling fireplace, the wind whipping outside, and hopefully, the sound of jingling bells. Unfortunately, those bells never rang, but what I did hear was the shuffling of feet and someone going in and out of the storage closet under the stairs. I slipped out of bed, out of my room and down the hall, and became a closer to uncovering the truth.

My mom was still placing the neatly wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree when I blurted out something to the effect of “Where’s Santa?” Yet there was no need; I had finally realized that it was a lie. She comforted me, but somehow I knew that he wasn’t real. I had always had a hard time trying to fathom a strange man in our home in the middle of the night delivering presents, but I wanted to believe just as all kids do at one time or another.

Finding out that Santa was my mom gave me an even deeper appreciation for her and all the things she sacrificed for me so that every Dec. 25, I would have presents to open. I do miss the idea of “Santa” and waking up early in the morning to open presents and exchange gifts with my family. Part of that was missing after my discovery.

As a parent, my husband and I are faced with playing the Santa role and keeping the secret guarded from our kids. Just this past weekend, I asked my eight-year old daughter if she believed in Santa and she replied with a convincing, “Yes!” I know there will come a day when she poses the question, “Is Santa real?” and I will reply with, “As long as you believe in him, he is.”