I'm not sure when I stopped believing in Santa, but I'm sure it was relatively early. My cousins were all older than me, and as soon as they found out I'm certain I was informed as well. I don't remember how I took the news, but as far as I know it didn't scar me for life or anything.
One year I had asked for a computer for Christmas. It seemed like an extremely tall order. My parents were not exactly rolling in money (mom gave private piano lessons at home for $10 a pop and went to school part time to become a pharmacy tech, Dad was a math teacher). Being an only child balances out the financial impact of the holidays quite a bit, or at least it did for me. But, generally my "big" presents were in the $50-$75 range: a new bike, a new baseball glove, a CD player, etc. Computers, in 1992, cost thousands of dollars, and that's not even an exaggeration.
I wasn't even entirely sure what a computer did, beyond the capability to play Oregon Trail or Number Crunchers. Dad brought one home from school and kept it in the den for a few weeks (an Apple IIe, in case you're wondering how old I am), and I was fascinated by it. I could type words and they would show up on the screen. I could put in a different disk and make a pie chart (I was, and remain, a gigantic nerd). When Dad had to take it back I was heartbroken, and that's when the thirst for my own computer began.
A few months later I was walking home from school and my friend (I always blame friends for bad habits) said that he had discovered all of his parents' hiding places for Christmas presents. Honestly, before that moment I had not considered the possibility that there were gifts hiding around the house. I don't know what the alternative would've been: perhaps they bought all of the presents on Christmas Eve after I went to bed, or something.
I got home before my parents did. Mom was on the PTA and they had an after-school meeting. Dad did not usually get home until 4:00. So, I began my search.
I guess Mom and Dad did not really think of me as a snoop, because their hiding places were laughably obvious: their walk-in closet in the bedroom, the nook behind the stairs in the basement, and in the den closet was the bounty: a brand new Apple IIGS, still in the box.
I was floored. I knew that the computer alone cost $1,000 (Dad received educational catalogs in the mail that usually included computers on sale). Monitors back then weren't cheap items, either, and the computer was useless without some software. All told, I would bet they paid almost $2,000 for this marvel of modern man.
I closed the closet door and spent the next four weeks acting like I didn't see a thing. I have a terrible poker face now, at 32, so I can't imagine it was any better 20 years ago. But I never admitted to looking, and they never outwardly assumed that I already knew.
Understanding that Santa was more of a myth than a man, that was something I got over pretty quickly, although it's terribly hard to remember that I have kids in the house now that still worship that jolly old man (my daughter was concerned that, since our chimneys were sealed, Santa could not make it inside; I had to explain that I open up the flues on Christmas Eve). But I never got over the ability to snoop for my gifts. It became more of an addiction than anything: right after Thanksgiving I would begin my hunt, and rarely was a gift unwrapped on Christmas Day that I didn't already know about.
I've learned my lesson as a kid. Presents for my children are nearly locked in a vault, inaccessible to all underage eyes. If they ever consider sneaking around, searching for the present stash, they are bound to be disappointed.
I may not be able to keep the dream of Santa alive, but I've made it my mission to ensure that every single Christmas is a day of surprises.
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