Summary Of Memoir: The Truth About Santa '
Memoir: The Truth about Santa
It was that time of the year again.
Christmas.
A time when the dusty tree emerges from its hiding place, the shiny ornaments come flowing out of boxes and family and friends gather to have a good time. Nothing but joy and cheer in the minds of everyone as the holiday spirit strikes them all. Yet it is also a day where parents around the world bring forth an unconventional lie in the utmost sense, one born from tradition and elaborate storytelling – Santa.
Like all other children my age, I was blindly drawn to the story of the mythical man who lived in the North Pole and brought gifts to children who’d been “good” all year long. The morning before Christmas, I’d been the first one awake, then proceeding to trample on my …show more content…
I thought I’d been a good girl this year.” In a depressed state, I trudged back up the stairs and to my bed, as a tear trailed down the side of my face. Plopping down on the bed, I fell asleep, crying softly and wondering what I’d done wrong.
I woke again a couple hours later, hearing voices in the hallway. I silently opened my door, and headed towards the source of the noise. I saw my parents heading downstairs and wondering what they were doing, followed behind. Peering over the balcony, I watched as they placed a stack of presents under the tree, laughing softly as they did so – as if there was a joke only they knew.
“Mom? Dad?” I thought to myself, “Why are they putting presents under the tree? Santa’s supposed to be doing that.”
Then it hit me. I knew why my parents smiled knowingly at me each time I’d gone off on tangent about Santa and the magic of Christmas. It simply didn’t exist.
But as I watched the genuine happiness on their faces as me and my brother opened our gifts later that morning and the way they urged on our gratitude to Santa, I knew it didn’t matter.
Instead, I played along. I smiled and laughed that Christmas morning, without a hint of remorse.
It was that time of the year again.
Christmas.
A time when the dusty tree emerges from its hiding place, the shiny ornaments come flowing out of boxes and family and friends gather to have a good time. Nothing but joy and cheer in the minds of everyone as the holiday spirit strikes them all. Yet it is also a day where parents around the world bring forth an unconventional lie in the utmost sense, one born from tradition and elaborate storytelling – Santa.
Like all other children my age, I was blindly drawn to the story of the mythical man who lived in the North Pole and brought gifts to children who’d been “good” all year long. The morning before Christmas, I’d been the first one awake, then proceeding to trample on my …show more content…
I thought I’d been a good girl this year.” In a depressed state, I trudged back up the stairs and to my bed, as a tear trailed down the side of my face. Plopping down on the bed, I fell asleep, crying softly and wondering what I’d done wrong.
I woke again a couple hours later, hearing voices in the hallway. I silently opened my door, and headed towards the source of the noise. I saw my parents heading downstairs and wondering what they were doing, followed behind. Peering over the balcony, I watched as they placed a stack of presents under the tree, laughing softly as they did so – as if there was a joke only they knew.
“Mom? Dad?” I thought to myself, “Why are they putting presents under the tree? Santa’s supposed to be doing that.”
Then it hit me. I knew why my parents smiled knowingly at me each time I’d gone off on tangent about Santa and the magic of Christmas. It simply didn’t exist.
But as I watched the genuine happiness on their faces as me and my brother opened our gifts later that morning and the way they urged on our gratitude to Santa, I knew it didn’t matter.
Instead, I played along. I smiled and laughed that Christmas morning, without a hint of remorse.