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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Memory / Reminiscence
- Published: 12/19/2024
Another Christmas Story
Born 1954, M, from Alva Florida, United StatesAnother Christmas Story
I always loved Christmas when my kids were young. I went all out with the Santa Claus magic—sleigh bells jingling, sleigh tracks in the snow, and deer prints around the yard. We left carrots for the reindeer and, of course, cookies and milk for Santa. One Christmas Eve, while we were traveling, a jet soared overhead, its blinking red light sparkling in the night. Naturally, I pointed it out as Rudolph leading Santa’s sleigh.
This background sets the stage for the story I’m about to share.
My youngest daughter, Jessica, was about eight at the time. One day, she came home from school visibly upset. Her friend Tom had been telling everyone in class that Santa wasn’t real. Jessica, fiercely loyal to her belief, got into a heated argument with him. She passionately defended Santa, calling Tom crazy and insisting that Santa was not only real but also a helper of Jesus and God.
That evening, we were driving to a friend’s house for a pre-Christmas dinner. In the back seat, Jessica animatedly retold the story of her argument, while her brother and sister chimed in. Wendy, my wife, and I exchanged a glance. I leaned over and whispered, “While we’re at the grocery store, I’ll stay in the car and tell Jessica the truth about Santa. She’s at that age.”
Wendy nodded reluctantly, and we pulled into the store parking lot. Wendy and the two older kids headed inside while Jessica stayed with me. I decided it was time to break the news.
“Jessica,” I began gently, “I need to tell you something important. Santa isn’t real. He’s a wonderful story, but it’s actually Mom and me who bring the presents.”
She froze, her big eyes widening. “No way!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I said softly. “Santa is just a story, but the real magic is in the love and joy of Christmas and the real story of the birth of Jesus.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. Then, with a mix of fury and heartbreak, she shouted, “I suppose you’re going to tell me the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy aren’t real either!”
I hesitated, knowing what was coming. “Well… now that you mention it, you’re right. They’re not real either.”
That was the final straw. Before I could say another word, she flung the car door open and bolted into the parking lot. Startled, I jumped out and chased after her. By the time I caught up, she had already stormed into the store, tears streaming down her face. She sprinted down an aisle, straight to Wendy and her siblings, yelling at the top of her lungs, “Mom! Dad said Santa isn’t real!”
Wendy shot me a look that could melt ice while thinking could have you let her down easy. The kids were stunned, and other shoppers were starting to stare. We quickly ushered Jessica back to the car, where we had a family discussion. Wendy and I explained to her that it’s normal for kids to believe in Santa for a while and that finding out the truth is part of growing up.
“But,” I added, “we’re heading to our friends’ house now, and their kids are younger. They still believe in Santa, so we need to keep this a secret for them, okay?”
Jessica sniffled, nodding reluctantly. “Fine,” she muttered, crossing her arms.
Though it was a rocky moment, that Christmas was still filled with love and laughter. Years later, we all look back on that night and laugh—Jessica most of all. It turns out the magic of Christmas isn’t in Santa or the Easter Bunny. It’s in the birth of Christ and the memories we make, even the messy ones.
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