The Belief of a Child

It's amazing how we as children believe in things unseen.  We don't question, but believe in the man that signifies the spirit of Christmas.  And each year, we count down the days until he will be here.  Hoping and wishing that he will bring us exactly what we asked for.

Dressed in my new Christmas dress with the satin ties that form the perfect bow in the back, velvet as soft as a kitten and shiny shoes that I haven't yet scuffed the toes on, I sit on the steps swinging my legs back and forth.  Mom made me wear tights much to my dismay.  I haven't even had them on for an hour yet and they were already sagging around my knees, making them look like they have a double chin.

"You girls can go get in the car," Dad said.  "We just have to go to the bathroom, and we'll be right out."

Every year it was the same line and every year we believed it.  Even though, my sisters and I knew that they were taking way too long to just be going to the bathroom.

Inside the house, mom and dad were acting as Santa's elves, spreading our presents out underneath the tree so that they would be ready to greet us when we got home from church. 

I always sat next to my dad in church.  Sometimes I think he acted more like a child than I did, tickling my side with that twinkle in his eye.  Not surprisingly, it reminded me of Santa Clause.  I would giggle and Mom would immediately shush me.

After church, we rushed to the living room to see what Santa had brought.  Strange how he always came during church and not while we were asleep.  After presents from Santa were opened, it was to bed we went.

In the morning, Kristi and I would rush down the stairs in our New Kids on the Block pajamas.  I ripped the wrapping paper off the largest box with my name on it and found the newest luxury for Barbie.  A pink camper that had all the amenities.  Kristi quickly opened her box only to find a shiny new red convertible.  Barbie would definitely be riding in style.  For hours we played with our new toys, oblivious to the food cooking in the kitchen and the wrapping paper strewn around us.

As the years went on, our beliefs faded and suddenly Santa's writing resembled Mom's.  The paper looked strangely familiar.  Hadn't we seen Mom using it earlier?  She tried telling us that Santa was too busy and had asked her to help by wrapping the gifts.  It worked for awhile, but Santa disappeared along with our innocence.

Now twenty-four, I know that there won't be any presents from Santa under the tree and that there is no jolly man in a red suit.  I am painfully aware of the sadness around us instead of the joy.  Sitting in front of the Christmas tree, lights sparking like the brightest stars in the sky, I close my eyes and wish to have the beliefs of a child...