The Magic Might be Gone, but the Spirit is Never Lost

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The days that I still believed in Santa Claus were some of the happiest days of my life. Every Christmas Eve, my family and my grandparents go out to dinner to a fancy restaurant called Fredrick’s. On the way there, me and my brother, Billy, would always look for a little red light in the sky as if we were trying to find Rudolf. Most of the time, we claimed we saw him and that just made our Christmas Eve extra special. After dinner, we all went back to my house and my grandparents gave me and my brother each an ornament to put on the Christmas tree. We get a new one every year because it’s a tradition in our family. Next we set up the plate of chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk for our Christmas hero, Santa. Looking back on old home videos, I can see how the expression on my face differs from then (when I believed) until now (when I know the ugly truth).

One Christmas Eve night I was trying to fall asleep with all of the excitement I had rushing through my mind. It was pretty quiet and my whole family was upstairs getting ready for bed. All of a sudden, I hear thump thump thump on the roof. The only reasonable explanation at the time was that Santa and his reindeer were on my roof! I jumped out of bed laughing and jumping around that Santa was here! I asked my mom and dad if they made that noise, and they denied it. Knowing that Santa only delivers his presents to boys and girls who are sleeping, I went right back into bed. Then he must have left because my whole house was not sound asleep yet. About ten minutes later, we heard it again! After that, I fell right to sleep because I couldn’t wait to wake up in the morning and look at the milk and cookies gone, and shove my whole arm into my stocking and to rip all the wrapping paper off my new presents.

When I was in 6th grade, I was best friends with three of my neighbors. We were all at my friend Michelle’s house watching TV. Christmas was in about twenty days and Michelle and I were talking about what we asked Santa for this year. My two other friends, Tom and Jess were not saying anything. I thought they were mad at us. Finally I asked them what they asked Santa for this year with a smile on my face. Suddenly that smile slowly and painfully disappeared. Tom and Jess announced that Santa Claus wasn’t real and that our parents are the ones who stay up late to but the presents under the tree. I was so mad at them for telling me that. All I wanted to do was go home and cry, and that’s exactly what I did. I asked my mom and dad if they were telling the truth and sadly, they were. Then I asked about all of the other mythical creatures on other holidays and special occasions and they were all lies as well. I was so upset but most of all, I was jealous of my little brother that Christmas. He got to believe in Santa and I didn’t. I watched his face light up and saw him thank Santa Claus. Of course I played along, but that Christmas and the Christmas’s after were never as special.

As I get older, I start to believe in Santa Claus again. Not in the actual person, but in the spirit. Christmas is all about helping others, and being with family and friends. It’s about giving and appreciating everything that comes your way. Santa is the guy in the mall, they guy asking for money on the streets, the guy that shows up at Christmas parties, and the guy who dresses up to help spread Christmas spirit. Even if the “Mrs. Claus” on the phone was my aunt or the Santa that dressed up and gave presents to my neighbors was my dad, I still had a great time believing and wish I could go back to it.





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