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Santa's Last Batch of Cookies

On Christmas Eve, 1973, I put out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, then crawled in bed with my stuffed animals.

In the morning, when I dashed out of my room and found an empty glass of milk and only scattered crumbs and one cookie left with a bite taken out of it, I yelled, "Wow! Santa ate my cookies!"

"Actually," my mom said, walking in from the kitchen, "your dad and I ate the cookies."

"Why? Those were for Santa."

"Well, because Santa Claus isn't real. We buy your presents and eat your cookies every year because it's fun for you, but since you're almost ready for Kindergarten, we think it's best you know now that Santa is just mom and dad."

"Oh," I said, and decided that made a lot more sense. Then I checked under the tree and sure enough, Santa or no Santa, there were presents. And so ended my simple relationship with Santa, and so began my complicated relationship with my family on Christmas for many years to come.

END
© 2005 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on December 14, 2005 in
Emotion: Indifference, Type: Creative Nonfiction