Faith and Santa Claus

I heard a song today that included the line "I don't really miss god, but I sure miss Santa Claus."

And I thought, I don't really remember ever believing in either. I'm sure I did believe in Santa Claus at some point though, before I could remember. I wish I could remember.

That kind of excited, ardent faith is something I'm not sure I've ever felt. The only thing I remember regarding my feelings toward the existence of Santa Claus was laying awake at night, listening to parents argue about what they bought for who, because they thought I couldn't hear them. I was slightly insulted by the ruse. I was probably ten or eleven, but they still treated the event like I was younger. That was probably because my brother was still that young.

It's actually kind of amazing, like a worldwide conspiracy, to keep kids believing in Santa as long as they can. They didn't work very well on me, I guess. Always a skeptic.

I remember when I caught my mom snapping plastic eggs together on Easter. My dad, always the more sly, secretive parent, was TDY in Saudi Arabia, leaving Mom to man the holiday alone. I was still in elementary school, so I guess she assumed I still believed in the Easter Bunny and that I went to sleep instantly when my head hit the pillow, like my then-toddler brother.

My bedroom and hers shared a wall, and I could hear the plastic eggs and rustling of paper and her cussing when she dropped something that rolled all over the floor. When she came near the door, I slipped out of bed and cracked my door open, leaning against the frame with my hand on my cotton, Pikachu-adorned nightgown. "Hello Mom."

She froze in the hallway and threw her hands behind her back to conceal whatever bounty she was toting to the living room. "The Easter Bunny, uh, I scared... why are you out of bed??" She fumbled in the hallway like I was her mother and she was a teenager caught sneaking back home after breaking curfew.

I laughed, smiled knowingly, and went back to bed, leaving Mom confused with her bags of egg-shaped chocolates. It wasn't like I'd reached a milestone in my childhood or anything, but looking back, I think maybe it was the first time Mom noticed me growing into my own person, a doubting and thinking individual. And Dad wasn't there to deal with it.

The next morning, I reprised my role as the excited, gullible kid for the sake of my little brother's enjoyment and my mother's sanity, but it kind of sucked a little magic out of the whole deal. Maybe I was gypped too young, cheated out of a few more years of believing, or maybe I never really did believe and just pretended all along.

Maybe I'm still just pretending, always pretending.