This morning, Molly was looking through a folder of her drawings and other creations from kindergarten (she's a big fourth-grader now), when she came across a letter she had written to Santa.
"Mom! What is this doing here! How come it wasn't mailed??"
I paused before answering, wondering whether she was pulling my leg or being sincere, because by her age, I certainly had figured out the truth about Santa.
In fact, one year, long before I was nine, my sisters and I had forcibly disrobed "Santa" one Christmas to prove that we knew he was really Jimmy Curry, friend of our parents. His red plastic suit and cotton ball beard were completely unconvincing and easily torn from his body.
Molly asked me once -- probably around the time she wrote the letter at issue -- if I would tell her the truth about Santa. I said I would and waited for the question, "is he real?" but she never asked it. So we left it at that. I guess you could say we have a "don't ask, don't tell" Santa policy in our house. We have acknowleged that some people don't believe in Santa -- or the tooth fairy, or the easter bunny -- but that everyone has a choice in that matter. Molly continues to choose to believe.
Thus, Molly was truly miffed that her letter hadn't been sent. So I did some quick thinking.
"I think I must have faxed it to him. That way I could keep the original copy because it was so cute!"
She seemed satisfied with this answer -- at least she didn't ask any further questions.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment