| Biographical Non-Fiction posted December 2, 2020 | Chapters: |
...10 11 -14- 15... 
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It took a while to learn the meaning of mythical.
A chapter in the book Viewing the World With Fresh Eyes
A Mythical Santa
by BethShelby
The Truth About Santa Contest Winner
I was six-years-old and in the first grade, when I first heard rumors that Santa wasn’t real. I didn’t want to believe it, but Sarah Ann was nine, and maybe she knew something that I didn’t know. I went home and asked my mom.
”Who told you that?”she asked.
“Sarah Ann at school told all the kids there wasn’t any such thing as Santa. She said our parents are lying. I told her my parents don’t lie.”
“Santa is mythical,”she said. “Jesus is real, but Santa Claus is mythical.”
“What does that mean? What is mythical?” I asked.
“You’ll understand when you get a little older. You can look up the word in the dictionary.”
“Okay, I’ll look it up now. How do your spell it?” I got the dictionary out, and she gave me the letters one by one, until I found it. What I read didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but there was a little picture of a statue of a Greek god with no clothes on.
I was shocked because I always thought Santa wore a red suit and cap. I decided that mythical people were special people, who either dressed funny, or didn’t wear clothes at all. Maybe it really didn't matter as long as he kept coming.
We had a fireplace and I’d been told Santa came down the chimney. I begged my parents not to have a fire on Christmas Eve because I didn’t want this mythical man to get burned. Two days before Christmas, my Dad must have dropped a heavy log on the fireplace grate. The grate was broken in half, and soot and ashes were scattered everywhere.
When I ask what happened, my dad said, "Santa broke it. He must have come a couple of days early to test it out and make sure he could get down it okay. I think he’s gained some weight.”
“Well, could we just leave the front door unlocked?” I asked.
On Christmas morning the slice of fruit cake and the glass of milk that I left out for him were gone, and from all the toys, it was apparent that leaving the door unlocked had worked.
I had some positive proof now. I knew my daddy wouldn’t break our grate just to prove Santa was real, and Daddy never did like milk. I went back to school and assured Sarah Ann that she was wrong, because I had proof that Santa was real.
So I believed for another year. When I was seven, I started to have doubts again. Most of the kids at school had gotten wise. By that time, I had decided that it was in my best interest to keep my doubts to myself. I was afraid that as soon as I admitted I didn’t believe, that might put an end to the toys.
When I was ten, I was still pretending I believed. That way the magic of Christmas lived on.
I was six-years-old and in the first grade, when I first heard rumors that Santa wasn’t real. I didn’t want to believe it, but Sarah Ann was nine, and maybe she knew something that I didn’t know. I went home and asked my mom.
”Who told you that?”she asked.
“Sarah Ann at school told all the kids there wasn’t any such thing as Santa. She said our parents are lying. I told her my parents don’t lie.”
“Santa is mythical,”she said. “Jesus is real, but Santa Claus is mythical.”
“What does that mean? What is mythical?” I asked.
“You’ll understand when you get a little older. You can look up the word in the dictionary.”
“Okay, I’ll look it up now. How do your spell it?” I got the dictionary out, and she gave me the letters one by one, until I found it. What I read didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but there was a little picture of a statue of a Greek god with no clothes on.
I was shocked because I always thought Santa wore a red suit and cap. I decided that mythical people were special people, who either dressed funny, or didn’t wear clothes at all. Maybe it really didn't matter as long as he kept coming.
We had a fireplace and I’d been told Santa came down the chimney. I begged my parents not to have a fire on Christmas Eve because I didn’t want this mythical man to get burned. Two days before Christmas, my Dad must have dropped a heavy log on the fireplace grate. The grate was broken in half, and soot and ashes were scattered everywhere.
When I ask what happened, my dad said, "Santa broke it. He must have come a couple of days early to test it out and make sure he could get down it okay. I think he’s gained some weight.”
“Well, could we just leave the front door unlocked?” I asked.
On Christmas morning the slice of fruit cake and the glass of milk that I left out for him were gone, and from all the toys, it was apparent that leaving the door unlocked had worked.
I had some positive proof now. I knew my daddy wouldn’t break our grate just to prove Santa was real, and Daddy never did like milk. I went back to school and assured Sarah Ann that she was wrong, because I had proof that Santa was real.
So I believed for another year. When I was seven, I started to have doubts again. Most of the kids at school had gotten wise. By that time, I had decided that it was in my best interest to keep my doubts to myself. I was afraid that as soon as I admitted I didn’t believe, that might put an end to the toys.
When I was ten, I was still pretending I believed. That way the magic of Christmas lived on.
”Who told you that?”she asked.
“Sarah Ann at school told all the kids there wasn’t any such thing as Santa. She said our parents are lying. I told her my parents don’t lie.”
“Santa is mythical,”she said. “Jesus is real, but Santa Claus is mythical.”
“What does that mean? What is mythical?” I asked.
“You’ll understand when you get a little older. You can look up the word in the dictionary.”
“Okay, I’ll look it up now. How do your spell it?” I got the dictionary out, and she gave me the letters one by one, until I found it. What I read didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but there was a little picture of a statue of a Greek god with no clothes on.
I was shocked because I always thought Santa wore a red suit and cap. I decided that mythical people were special people, who either dressed funny, or didn’t wear clothes at all. Maybe it really didn't matter as long as he kept coming.
We had a fireplace and I’d been told Santa came down the chimney. I begged my parents not to have a fire on Christmas Eve because I didn’t want this mythical man to get burned. Two days before Christmas, my Dad must have dropped a heavy log on the fireplace grate. The grate was broken in half, and soot and ashes were scattered everywhere.
When I ask what happened, my dad said, "Santa broke it. He must have come a couple of days early to test it out and make sure he could get down it okay. I think he’s gained some weight.”
“Well, could we just leave the front door unlocked?” I asked.
On Christmas morning the slice of fruit cake and the glass of milk that I left out for him were gone, and from all the toys, it was apparent that leaving the door unlocked had worked.
I had some positive proof now. I knew my daddy wouldn’t break our grate just to prove Santa was real, and Daddy never did like milk. I went back to school and assured Sarah Ann that she was wrong, because I had proof that Santa was real.
So I believed for another year. When I was seven, I started to have doubts again. Most of the kids at school had gotten wise. By that time, I had decided that it was in my best interest to keep my doubts to myself. I was afraid that as soon as I admitted I didn’t believe, that might put an end to the toys.
When I was ten, I was still pretending I believed. That way the magic of Christmas lived on.
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Writing Prompt How old were you when you found the truth about Santa Claus? How did you find out about him and how did the discovery make you feel? |
The Truth About Santa Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
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