Santa: A Confession

I have a confession; until I was about 8 I thought my grandpa was Santa. I know it sounds ridiculous but let me elaborate. My grandpa is a jolly guy; he has rosy red cheeks, a red nose, wears suspenders, and best of all he has a white beard. In addition, he likes to wear hats (like all good Santa’s), can build anything, and loves milk and cookies. Of course this is confusing to a kid! I clearly remember telling one of my friends in first grade that my grandpa was Santa. Other kids waited up all night Christmas Eve to catch him, I didn’t have to do that, and he always came to my house Christmas morning for breakfast. My grandparents rarely spent the night on Christmas Eve, I was convinced this was because my grandpa had work to do that night, but they always made it in time for Christmas morning.
My little first grader friend argued with me about my grandpa being Santa, she pointed out the flaws in my logic, but being 6 I was convinced. I assured her on no uncertain terms that my grandpa was Santa, and I would prove it to her. I don’t know that I ever actually ended up proving it, but trust me I could have, he would have eaten a cookie for us, or let us give his beard a sharp tug, and I am sure if we asked he may have even told us a good Christmas story. Sometime around age 8 it occurred to me that Santa’s name might not be Bob, Santa may not like to golf quite as much, and that in all likelihood Santa probably spent a majority of his year somewhere that got more snow than southern California. My grandma was the dead giveaway, all the pictures I had seen of Mrs. Claus showed a pretty lady with white hair that baked- my grandma did not bake, and there is no way Santa could live without fresh baked cookies. My grandma is also decidedly “bah humbug”, she hasn’t put up a tree in a decade, doesn’t put lights on the house, and might forget that it is Christmas without our constant annoying reminders. When I finally made the realization that my grandpa wasn’t Santa I was a bit disappointed, I thought I was famous, that I knew Santa, and then all I had was a grandpa. Don’t get me wrong, he is an awesome grandpa, but there is something about knowing where Santa lives, or that he eats cereal from a salad bowl that makes Christmas that much more magical