I miss Santa Claus.
You know, the big guy in the red suit who comes down your chimney or through your door and leaves lots of goodies? You leave him cookies, he leaves you a bike or a sled or a Wii?
Where did he go?
The kids and I set up the Christmas tree and put out the decorations, and the whole time I kept thinking about that one guy who was for so long such a big part of our lives. Growing up he was the one I turned to, hoping for that one special thing every year. He left for a little while when I was in high school and college, but then after I got married and the kids arrived, Santa returned, full of promise and holiday spirit.
Now the kids are teenagers and Santa is nothing more than a stuffed doll counting down the days to Christmas on my bookcase.
I remember when the kids were little I sometimes -- very selfishly -- couldn't wait for the day when they no longer believed. Some fictional fat guy had been getting all the credit for the good stuff and I didn't like it. Little did I realize then that he was also getting the blame for much of it: if that XBox didn't show up under the tree it was because Santa didn't think it was a good idea. No pony? Santa didn't think we had room.
And childhood squabbles were a dream. A casual mention of "Santa's watching" brought calm to any storm; now I'm left to my own devices to stop teenage bickering.
Oh, yeah. I miss Santa.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment