Christmas and Santa Claus now belong in large part to my kids. As an adult, there isn’t anything that I really want that I can’t buy for myself. Kids without means to buy whatever they want, want everything and Christmas presents are a huge deal. It’s now about their joy and excitement over the season. Even though, we have toys coming out of our ears, I still enjoy buying them new toys, knowing they will end up scattered about and not played with as much as I would like. As a kid, of course, I didn’t think much about who I was with when said desired presents were opened, but the memories were etched in my mind. The presents I received have long been loved, lost or forgotten and what I’m left with is not the memory of the gifts, but the people that gave them to me. I hope it will be the same for Zoey and Hunter, that in time it won’t be about the presents, but about being loved.
As a kid, Christmas Eve was spent at my Grandma’s house in Whittier. We ate dinner at a table without an inch of space left for one more platter or bowl heaped high with food. We opened presents by a Christmas tree dashed heavily with silver tinsel. My Grandma spoiled us and the floor beneath the tree was always covered with presents and we had to search for the ones with our names on them. We opened presents youngest to oldest and took turns playing Santa and grabbing the present for the next person. We waited impatiently while our Grandpa took what felt like years to open his presents, slowly removing the paper with the help of his pocket knife. My Grandma usually skipped turns and ended up with a pile of presents by her feet. My Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Tim walked us to the car, stood waiting as we were buckled in and waved goodbye as we drove away. On the drive home to Redlands we listened and sang along to Christmas music while looking for Christmas lights on houses visible from the freeway.
On Christmas mornings, we woke up early, filled with anticipation for what we might find wrapped beneath the tree. For years, Krista and I were the first ones up, waking up Brittany and Brooke. As Krista and I got older, this changed and they started waking us up. We bounced around and whined as our mom and dad, (then later just mom), slowly got out of bed. Mom came from her room, pulled on her robe, tightened the belt at her waist, then started a pot of coffee before joining us by the tree. We started with the stockings exclaiming at what Santa had left us. We then took turns opening presents and watching each other unwrap them. We saved the Santa presents, which were always the biggest and best, for last. The presents disappeared quickly and we ended the morning with piles of wrapping paper, new toys and clothes surrounding us.
I don’t remember exactly how old I was when I started questioning the existence of Santa Claus, but my parents were still married, so I must’ve been about ten or so. My sisters and I were playing in the backyard near the tent trailer that was kept by the side of our house. One of us opened the trailer door and discovered my mom’s hiding place. There in front of us was a Nintendo box, an obvious Santa present. This only confirmed what I had already begun thinking, that my mom was Santa. We didn’t tell her what we had found, but waited until Christmas Eve to bring it up. Krista, and I shared a room and we had always stayed up as long as our eyes could stay open on Christmas Eve, listening for the sounds of hoofs and jingle bells on the roof. One year, I think we really heard them, but that year we weren’t listening for Santa. As my mom was putting us to bed, I looked over the edge of the bunk bed and asked her if Santa was real. Krista was two and a half years younger than me and thinking back, I wish I wouldn’t asked for the truth another time, so Krista could’ve remained a believer a little longer. My mom attempted to convince us that he was real, but after about twenty minutes of begging her to just tell us the truth, she caved and begrudgingly admitted the truth, there was no Santa. The next morning, we opened the Nintendo box and thanked Santa for it, not letting on that we no longer believed because Brittany and Brooke were still believers.
As we grew older, our parents divorced, we got boyfriends, then got married and had babies, our traditions had to change, as traditions must sometimes do. We weren’t all able to make it to Grandma’s house on Christmas Eve and instead made Christmas Eve plans with our new extended families. Even though it’s been years since I was a kid, I still love the tradition of Christmas morning at my mom’s house. We usually spend the night and my sisters and their expanding families come over in their pajamas and we all open presents together, like we had as kids. We now do Secret Santa amongst the adults and buy presents for all the kids.
We have developed our own family traditions. To name just a few, ever since Zoey was born we have taken her to see Santa at the Cerritos Mall (same guy every year, so far). She’s always too shy to talk to him and this year was no exception. Last year Hunter was too little to be scared of Santa, but this year he wasn’t happy that I put him on a stranger’s lap. We drive around one night close to Christmas and look at people’s Christmas lights. We go to Joe’s parents house on Christmas Eve and my mom’s on Christmas morning. In order to be at my mom’s on Christmas morning, Santa has been bringing presents to our house on the 23rd. Soon, Zoey will realize that Santa Claus is coming to our house on the wrong day, that it’s not normal to open presents from Santa on Christmas Eve morning and we will have to adjust this tradition. I’m not looking forward to having a conversation with my kids about the existence of Santa and will do what I can to stave it off. So their believe will remain in tact, likely next year, Santa will visit our house on Christmas Eve and we’ll begin a new family tradition. But, this year, I will wake up on Christmas morning at my mom’s, like I have practically every year since I was a kid, excited for what the day will bring.
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