As kids, my brother and I were made to believe in Santa Claus. On Christmas morning, we would rush towards the living room windows where our Christmas stockings hung and excitedly look inside them to see what gifts we got. Of course, we always got a gift from Santa. Apparently, we were always on his list of ‘nice’ kids.
This went on for a couple of years until that fateful day in third grade. I was happily telling my classmate a story about the gift Santa gave me the past Christmas, to which she pointedly replied: “Santa doesn’t exist. It’s your Mom and Dad putting the presents in your Christmas stockings.” Naturally, I was devastated. When I got home that day, my Mom confirmed my classmate’s revelation. And yet, we had to continue the Santa act for a few more years for my younger brother’s sake.
Now that I have a kid, it’s my turn to play Santa. My turn to put presents in her Christmas stocking by the window. My turn to let her enjoy the Santa myth for some time.
But unlike me, I bet my kid will uncover the truth about Santa much sooner. Perhaps, by the time she learns how to use a computer. How to surf. How to Google.
All she would have to do is type “Is Santa Claus real?” on the Google search bar
Agnes M. Santiago, Entry #2