Santa's Identity Revealed
Every child has the story of when they learned that Santa was not real and it was just their parents. I to remember that fateful day (in my case night) when I learned that Santa was...my mother.
Before that significant Christmas Eve night, I now reflect back on ALL the signs that should have signified to me that my mother was indeed the "fat man in the red suit." Here is a list of all the things that should have set off warning bells in my lil' 7-year-old mind.
First indication that Santa was a myth: My brothers, probably the previous year, had told me that Santa was not real. I remember this day just as I remember the day I discovered the truth for myself. Every year when we were younger we would go camping with my parent's friends and their kids. These friends are my parent's best friends from high school and they ALL married each other! It's the craziest thing, and the best thing. Anyways, we would always go to a KOA camp or in this particular memory, we were at New Brighton Beach. I remember that we were either loading up to go home or unloading, regardless, the trauma occurred in our creep-tastic '80's van that my parents had. I remember arguing with my brothers as to who was going to get to sit all the way in the back, and as in brotherly fashion, I was NOT allowed in the back with them. I was the little annoying sister and had to sit in the middle seat... alone :P So, as we were bickering, one of them shouted "Well, you know what?! SANTA ISN'T REAL!" I guarantee it was my brother Zeb, because he would SO do something like that! I remember yelling back that he was a liar, and screaming for my mom! She told me he was just being mean and that Santa would bring him coal or something to that effect, but she assured me that Santa was indeed real.
Second clue I was oblivious to until the moment of realization on that night, was the significance of my mom's choice in WRAPPING PAPER. I TOTALLY should have realized that Santa's wrapping paper looked awfully similar to my mother's. She never wrapped our presents in the same wrapping paper, but the presents she would deliver and give to other people was the same as Santa's wrapping paper. Like, HELLO! Red flag here lil' children (i.e. myself). The power of denial was strong in me.
The last clue, handwriting. If there was something that should have set off red flags more than anything was the handwriting on Santa's gifts. If you knew my mother and knew her handwriting then you knew it was very distinctive (so distinctive in fact, that I tattooed my mom's handwriting onto my ribs). Well ladies and gentlemen, Santa and my mother had THE SAME handwriting! But of course this didn't connect in my head till that Earth shattering night.
Which brings me to the story of when all of the above flashed before my eyes as I stumbled across the truth. It was Christmas Eve and I was "sleeping" in my bed. My bedroom was the closet to the living room and I slept with my door open because I was afraid of the dark (don't judge me). My brother, Heath, was up watching TV in the living room. I remember being too excited to go to sleep, as any child is the night before Christmas because Santa was coming and that meant waking up to PRESENTS! Woot Woot!
That Christmas I desperately wanted this doll that I had seen at the local florist shop my mother used to work at, YNOT Newman Floral. The doll's name was Serenity and she was just precious. She had long brown hair, glasses and the cutest dress. (I searched and searched for a picture, but was unsuccessful. I only found images of Firefly and the character Serenity, which is still awesome and totally makes me very nerdy at this moment! Joss Whedon FOR LIFE!) Serenity wasn't my favorite doll growing up, but she made it into the top three. My favorite doll was Pamela, the one my brothers would take and stick darts on her head and hang her up on the arch of our living room out of reach from my desperate hands to rescue her. (See told you my brothers were torturers!) Anyways, Serenity was the doll that I really wanted for Christmas and I believe the only thing I had asked for. So, as I was laying in bed I desperately was trying to will myself to sleep so I could wake up and see what Santa had dropped off under our Christmas tree. As I lay in bed, I noticed my mom trying to sneakily slip by my bedroom to the living room with presents in hand. She had closed my door slightly, but I saw her. I was suspicious, because all of our presents from "Mom and Daddy" were already under the tree. As I laid in bed I waited patiently for the bedroom door of my parent's room to close, and for my brother Heath to go to bed. I then got up and grabbed my Barbie streetlamp that actually worked -it was form my Barbie fold and fun house I had received last Christmas- and headed on out to investigate. (Pictured below of said streetlamp. It was bad ass!)
As I walked over to where our stockings were hung by the wood stove with care, I held my tiny little street lamp up to the presents. Low and behold I came across the big, rectangle box. I knew this was the only box that could possibly hold my beloved Serenity doll I wanted so badly. As I held the light up to the Christmas tag I read "To: Amy Love: Santa." (This is my own version of my mom's handwriting. We have very similar handwriting, which was very useful when I would write notes to excuse myself from school and ditch! Oh, like you didn't do that! Plus, I told my mom after I graduated. Another thing that my mom pretended to be upset about, but secretly thought it was cool. Only because she was such a goody-toe-shoes when she was in high school.)
Sooooooo as I am starring down at the present that I knew to be my doll, the truth hit me like a ton of bricks and my response when the realization that mom and Santa were one was "HOLY JESUSJOSEPHANDMARY it was ALL a lie!" That's when it ALL dawned on me. That WAS my mother's handwriting. The "S" in Santa had Karen Rocha ALL over it. The wrapping paper, the words of my brother teasing me in the back of my mind that Santa was indeed Mom and Dad came all rushing back to me so quickly. I hurried back to my room and laid in bed trying to convince myself other wise, but the evidence was too much to ignore.
Santa was a hoax!
The next morning when we opened gifts that big rectangle box was in my pile. Sure enough the present that "Santa" brought me was Serenity. I just looked at my mom and didn't have the heart to tell her I knew, but eventually I did. That didn't stop my mom from writing "From: Santa" on our stocking stuffers every year. If it didn't say "From:Santa," and you told her "Thank you," she would say "Why are you thanking me? It was from Santa" :)
Annnnnnd yes when you stop believing in Santa Clause you do end up with underwear. HOWEVER, I liked getting new underwear because it saved me from having to buy them myself!! SO THERE!
Every Christmas was special with my family, as is with most families. From my mom making breakfast, to then cleaning up the mounds of trash from ALL the wrapping paper in the middle of the living floor. We then all went into clean mode, because my entire family would come over at two o'clock for our big family Portagee Christmas. My dad in the kitchen making clam chowder. My mom and Ola would be in the kitchen making the dinner, sides, and appetizers. My brothers were in charge of the infamous Portuguese linguisa- SO GOOD! Yes, we had a wide range of yummy goodness at the house).
This year it won't be the same without my mom. However, I am holding onto the memories of the 29 Christmases I was able to share with her.
Before that significant Christmas Eve night, I now reflect back on ALL the signs that should have signified to me that my mother was indeed the "fat man in the red suit." Here is a list of all the things that should have set off warning bells in my lil' 7-year-old mind.
First indication that Santa was a myth: My brothers, probably the previous year, had told me that Santa was not real. I remember this day just as I remember the day I discovered the truth for myself. Every year when we were younger we would go camping with my parent's friends and their kids. These friends are my parent's best friends from high school and they ALL married each other! It's the craziest thing, and the best thing. Anyways, we would always go to a KOA camp or in this particular memory, we were at New Brighton Beach. I remember that we were either loading up to go home or unloading, regardless, the trauma occurred in our creep-tastic '80's van that my parents had. I remember arguing with my brothers as to who was going to get to sit all the way in the back, and as in brotherly fashion, I was NOT allowed in the back with them. I was the little annoying sister and had to sit in the middle seat... alone :P So, as we were bickering, one of them shouted "Well, you know what?! SANTA ISN'T REAL!" I guarantee it was my brother Zeb, because he would SO do something like that! I remember yelling back that he was a liar, and screaming for my mom! She told me he was just being mean and that Santa would bring him coal or something to that effect, but she assured me that Santa was indeed real.
Second clue I was oblivious to until the moment of realization on that night, was the significance of my mom's choice in WRAPPING PAPER. I TOTALLY should have realized that Santa's wrapping paper looked awfully similar to my mother's. She never wrapped our presents in the same wrapping paper, but the presents she would deliver and give to other people was the same as Santa's wrapping paper. Like, HELLO! Red flag here lil' children (i.e. myself). The power of denial was strong in me.
The last clue, handwriting. If there was something that should have set off red flags more than anything was the handwriting on Santa's gifts. If you knew my mother and knew her handwriting then you knew it was very distinctive (so distinctive in fact, that I tattooed my mom's handwriting onto my ribs). Well ladies and gentlemen, Santa and my mother had THE SAME handwriting! But of course this didn't connect in my head till that Earth shattering night.
Which brings me to the story of when all of the above flashed before my eyes as I stumbled across the truth. It was Christmas Eve and I was "sleeping" in my bed. My bedroom was the closet to the living room and I slept with my door open because I was afraid of the dark (don't judge me). My brother, Heath, was up watching TV in the living room. I remember being too excited to go to sleep, as any child is the night before Christmas because Santa was coming and that meant waking up to PRESENTS! Woot Woot!
That Christmas I desperately wanted this doll that I had seen at the local florist shop my mother used to work at, YNOT Newman Floral. The doll's name was Serenity and she was just precious. She had long brown hair, glasses and the cutest dress. (I searched and searched for a picture, but was unsuccessful. I only found images of Firefly and the character Serenity, which is still awesome and totally makes me very nerdy at this moment! Joss Whedon FOR LIFE!) Serenity wasn't my favorite doll growing up, but she made it into the top three. My favorite doll was Pamela, the one my brothers would take and stick darts on her head and hang her up on the arch of our living room out of reach from my desperate hands to rescue her. (See told you my brothers were torturers!) Anyways, Serenity was the doll that I really wanted for Christmas and I believe the only thing I had asked for. So, as I was laying in bed I desperately was trying to will myself to sleep so I could wake up and see what Santa had dropped off under our Christmas tree. As I lay in bed, I noticed my mom trying to sneakily slip by my bedroom to the living room with presents in hand. She had closed my door slightly, but I saw her. I was suspicious, because all of our presents from "Mom and Daddy" were already under the tree. As I laid in bed I waited patiently for the bedroom door of my parent's room to close, and for my brother Heath to go to bed. I then got up and grabbed my Barbie streetlamp that actually worked -it was form my Barbie fold and fun house I had received last Christmas- and headed on out to investigate. (Pictured below of said streetlamp. It was bad ass!)
As I walked over to where our stockings were hung by the wood stove with care, I held my tiny little street lamp up to the presents. Low and behold I came across the big, rectangle box. I knew this was the only box that could possibly hold my beloved Serenity doll I wanted so badly. As I held the light up to the Christmas tag I read "To: Amy Love: Santa." (This is my own version of my mom's handwriting. We have very similar handwriting, which was very useful when I would write notes to excuse myself from school and ditch! Oh, like you didn't do that! Plus, I told my mom after I graduated. Another thing that my mom pretended to be upset about, but secretly thought it was cool. Only because she was such a goody-toe-shoes when she was in high school.)
Sooooooo as I am starring down at the present that I knew to be my doll, the truth hit me like a ton of bricks and my response when the realization that mom and Santa were one was "HOLY JESUSJOSEPHANDMARY it was ALL a lie!" That's when it ALL dawned on me. That WAS my mother's handwriting. The "S" in Santa had Karen Rocha ALL over it. The wrapping paper, the words of my brother teasing me in the back of my mind that Santa was indeed Mom and Dad came all rushing back to me so quickly. I hurried back to my room and laid in bed trying to convince myself other wise, but the evidence was too much to ignore.
Santa was a hoax!
The next morning when we opened gifts that big rectangle box was in my pile. Sure enough the present that "Santa" brought me was Serenity. I just looked at my mom and didn't have the heart to tell her I knew, but eventually I did. That didn't stop my mom from writing "From: Santa" on our stocking stuffers every year. If it didn't say "From:Santa," and you told her "Thank you," she would say "Why are you thanking me? It was from Santa" :)
Annnnnnd yes when you stop believing in Santa Clause you do end up with underwear. HOWEVER, I liked getting new underwear because it saved me from having to buy them myself!! SO THERE!
Every Christmas was special with my family, as is with most families. From my mom making breakfast, to then cleaning up the mounds of trash from ALL the wrapping paper in the middle of the living floor. We then all went into clean mode, because my entire family would come over at two o'clock for our big family Portagee Christmas. My dad in the kitchen making clam chowder. My mom and Ola would be in the kitchen making the dinner, sides, and appetizers. My brothers were in charge of the infamous Portuguese linguisa- SO GOOD! Yes, we had a wide range of yummy goodness at the house).
This year it won't be the same without my mom. However, I am holding onto the memories of the 29 Christmases I was able to share with her.
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