At seven years old I sat at my Grandfather’s feet playing dolls on Christmas Eve while he discussed plans for the next day with my Father. I am sure neither one of them gave a thought to my presence or ever would have guessed that as I played I was listening to everything they were saying.
I still remember my Grandpa’s exact words, “I can’t believe the kids haven’t figured out the whole Santa thing. One day they’ll be old enough to realize the ‘Santa’ gifts are wrapped in the same paper as the ones we wrap.” At this point I promptly up and started crying, “Santa’s not real?!” They both froze then started speaking at once trying to reassure me that Santa was indeed real and they had only been joking. Alas, the damage was done. I was a heart-broken little girl that had just learned the day before Christmas that the Holiday magic I had always believed in was nothing but make believe.
That evening, as tradition, my entire family stayed at my Grandparent’s house. I have a fairly large family so we were scattered throughout the house. I was sleeping soundly on the pull out couch in the den just off of the kitchen when an unfamiliar noise woke me up. I crept out of bed and tiptoed through the kitchen to peak into the living room which held the giant Christmas tree, fully expecting to find one of my sneaky cousins peeking at the presents.
When I turned the corner however, a gasp flew from my mouth. There, standing in a full fuzzy red outfit with fluffy white lining, topped off with a red hat and bushy white beard, was Santa! He was setting the presents gently underneath the tree. I stood and watched in awe until he was just about done then I snuck back into my makeshift bed and pretended to be asleep. I heard the door to the den creek further open and I squeezed my eyes shut as tightly as I could, pretending to be asleep. I heard the door creek shut.
I fell back asleep that night, my belief in Santa fully restored. When I awoke in the morning there was a silver bracelet with reindeer charms in the pocket of my robe along with a note from Santa that read “Always believe.”
I still have that bracelet and I believed in Santa until I was about 12 years old, always arguing tooth and nail with anyone who told me he was imaginary. My Grandpa has been gone for many years now. Every time I miss him I think about what he must have gone though the evening of Christmas Eve to find a Santa Suit to re-instill belief in his seven year old grand daughter. That is love.