Luckily, my parents didn't believe in perpetrating the whole fat jolly man breaking into your house myth. They spent their hard earned money on those presents and they wanted us to KNOW it!
My best friend, Moonspark, however, lived in a house of lies until she was about 7 or 8. Her parents would go so far as to climb up on the roof and make stomping reindeer noises on Christmas Eve, just to screw with their children's heads. Moonspark's older sister clung to the Santa Claus myth until she was 13.
And look at them now! Moonspark's a poet, for heaven's sake! A poet! If believing that one can make a living penning poetry isn't the highest level of denial, I don't know what is.
Even if my parents had half-assesdly perpetrated the whole St.Nick myth, I probably wouldn't have bought into it. I mean, I usually found the presents weeks before Christmas anyway and I'm not so dumb as to believe that Santa dropped them off early to save time. Besides, I spent most of my childhood being an unimaginable asshole, so if St. Nick had really been on the ball, then I would have gotten sackfuls of coal or a good beating.
My brother, on the other hand, clung stubbornly to the myth until I disabused him of the notion when he was about 6. I was 4. And evil. I also ruined Christmas for my younger cousins when I revealed that the swarthy Santa that personally visited us every Christmas Eve was, in fact, Grandpa. I mean, come on, kids, did you really believe that Santa had gotten rid of the reindeer and, in a huge coincidence, drove a Buick exactly like Grandpa's? And, much like Clark Kent, Grandpa never seemed to be around when Santa was. Don't you think that he would want to be around to personally shake hands with such an important guy?
All right. So I'm an asshole. Sue me.
For me, what makes Christmas important and special isn't the free presents (although really, that rocks), or the possibility of a fat man in a red suit breaking into my house, it's the fact that I get to spend it with my family. My extended family. My grandparents, my uncle, my cousins.
That, and it's really the one time of year when most people are generous and decent.
For example, at the wee public library, I hung up stockings with my staff's names on them (and mine, too) as a little decoration for the holidays. For the past couple of days, someone has been filling the stockings. Anonymously. At first, my staff thought it was me, because usually, that's my kind of thing. But I swear it isn't. How sweet is that? It's probably a board member and that makes me happy to think that they care enough about us to make us feel a little bit special.
*Sniff*
Ooh, I forgot to mention that we library people did indeed join the parade this year, with pimped-out book trucks. We passed out free books (they were donated) to the kiddies and generally made fools out of ourselves. It was fun. I got to wear this old Santa coat that the library has from way back. It's Victorian in design, so it's long and cool. I wore it with my naughty Catholic school girl outfit of red plaid skirt, rd cardigan, fishnets and knee-high boots. So, I felt a little like a stripper. A merry stripper.
But, the parade and the library open house was a huge success and the board members were very complimentary to me for all the hard work I put into it. It felt good to be loved.
And on that note, it's off to bed with me.
