When did you learn Santa wasn’t real?
Each morning I head in to work my iPhone gets plugged in to my car stereo. iOS does it’s magic and decides I’m probably travelling to work so switches on my list of podcasts and begins playing where it left off. As of this morning, I was completely up to date with all the podcasts I subscribe to so was at a bit of a loss as to what to listen to. The Complete Guide to Everything starring Tim and Tom has been going for several years and thankfully, I only subscribed to them last year leaving me with a back catalogue of files to download, the first of which was titled ‘The Complete Guide to Everything: Santa’. Within the first 10 minutes of the episode I knew what I would be writing about here today.. When did I stop believing in Santa? (Please check out the podcast here: http://tcgte.com)
Christmas is magical to me, it always has been and always will be. I love the colour, the music and the love that everyone feels from the festive period. I have fond memories of being sat in the dark extension with just the Christmas tree lighting the room as Mum read the Tailor of Gloucester to me and my two brothers; this was a Christmas Eve tradition and it stayed going through to about the age of 8 for me. Another tradition was reading the Christmas Grump before bed on Christmas Day, still one of my favourite Christmas stories to this day as simple as it is. There was one other tradition that I used to adore and that was my knitted Santa; he used to sit by my bedside and come the morning his sack would have a tube of smarties or roll of fruit pastilles sat snuggly in it.
I’ve sat and thought hard about this and think the earliest time I can remember being aware Santa wasn’t real is at the age of 8 whilst I was laying in bed. I’d had the Tailor of Gloucester read and I’d enjoyed the Christmas Grump but still couldn’t sleep. Laying there I could hear my brothers bumping around and Mum chatting to them in a whisper, the next thing I knew was my door creeped open and Roland placed my stocking at the end of my bed. Once he left I opened my eyes, looked down and I vividly remembering ‘Well that explains that then’. I don’t think I cried but I do feel a little Christmas magic left me that night.
I can’t explain why I wasn’t in tears, completely destroyed by it etc, I know I hadn’t heard it in the playground otherwise there would have been lots of other disillusioned children. Thinking back on it now, I never even told Mum I knew that he wasn’t real – I can only assume she worked out that as I got older it was more likely I knew and that she would just continue on as normal.
So there you have it, it took me to 8 years old to discover Santa wasn’t real, what about you?