Christmas was a truly magical time in my life and is deeply linked to both my Grandmother and memories of my family, before divorce, before death changed things. Every year we alternated between going to my mother's parents in Minneapolis or they came to our house in Lansing, Michigan. There was no precise start date to the festivities, but the entire unfolding of the set up took time: giant boxes filled with decorations that had all sorts of history, from the kissing angels on the mantle, Santa in a balloon that hooked onto a light over the fireplace and I remember touching while sitting on my father's shoulders, miles of colored outdoor lights, which we used inside on the 7' tree because my mother liked the bold colors and another Santa riding around on a little metal motorcycle which the cats would try to bat around. We all participated. Anticipating my Grandparent's arrival was excruciating and then their actual arrival with boatloads of presents was beyond thrilling. This was a time before diets, crazy obsessive exercise, my sister's bulimia and my mom used to let my sister and I help make cookies, rock candy, fudge, peanut brittle. I love it ALL.

Leading up to the date itself there were rules. My mother and Grandmother would disappear into the extra bedroom where my Grandparents stayed and basically deem the room completely off limits at all times. I would walk by, but I never, ever would have tried to come in, nor would I ever have entered if they weren't in there. I didn't actually consider what they were doing other than wrapping, but I loved the exquisite torture of it.

The night of Christmas Eve we were allowed to open one gift from under the tree, usually something I felt was boring, like a nightgown, so we could look cute for pictures/bad quality movies on Christmas morning. Brooke and I usually put on a Christmas show for my parents and Grandparents (my mom is an only child), complete with baby Jesus and lots of carols, usually using the giant stuffed mouse as a sheep or a camel. Bath with Crazy Foam. Then Brooke, my sister, and I would write some kind of note to Santa, not a list, just a hello, put out 2 cookies, a glass of milk and leave a carrot for Rudolph. When we went to bed we were under strict instructions not to come out for any reason, no matter what until 6a. I would be flopping around like a fish, dying for it to be morning. Again, I never tested this, never peeked and once I was asleep, a herd of cattle could have come through my bedroom and I wouldn't have budged.

Brooke and I were at the ready by about 5:40a, talking in excited whispers. As the very loud clock rolled over the next digit, by 5:58a, we were out of our skulls, getting ready to rush the adults, I always woke my Grandparents and Brooke, my parents and then we would all go down together. There was always a "big gift" from Santa and then everything in the stockings was from him, too. All gifts under the tree were to/from each other. I do remember asking my mom why there were price tags from Meijer's, our grocery store that is a veritable middle class Herrods and she said sometimes Santa needed to just go to the store instead of making stuff and that he came after the store was closed. I was in awe of the idea that Santa walked where I had walked. Maybe Rudolph and the other reindeer had been walking beside him, perhaps even pushing their own grocery carts! Wrapping paper the same as some under the tree? Santa must have forgotten a few things and needed to wrap them HERE, RIGHT HERE IN OUR HOUSE!!! No chimney at my Grandparents, problem? He'd find a way. Nothing was beyond comprehension, absolutely nothing. The Santas in the stores were admittedly NOT Santa, but his helpers, because he really was too busy to be everywhere and this helped to explain blue and brown eyes, glasses, no glasses, they were merely representatives doing a good deed for kids by helping their friend Santa.

I never peeked, ever. Didn't go in the extra bedroom, look in closed bags, explore any closets. Anyone who might say he wasn't real just didn't know the truth and I thought it was terribly malicious of them to perpetuate the idea.

What happened, very randomly, was I lost a tooth in the 6th grade and it was a BIG tooth, relative to the others I had shed. I was in the car in my Mom's blue, Chevy Vega and idly said out loud that I foresaw a potential dollar in my future considering this one was such a whopper. My mom then said, "I'll have to see what I can do about that." I remember the moment like time stopping. Staring into the vent of the car, brain reeling, heart racing, shaking my head at what I was in front of me. "Mom, are you the Tooth Fairy?" "Yes, Megan, I am." Bigger pause, but I remember no distinct thoughts. "Mom, does that mean you are the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, too?" "I am, Megan."

I was beyond devastated. This was in the summer and so the next holiday was Christmas and for the first time in my life my mother woke me up on Christmas morning. Earlier that same year my Grandma had died unexpectedly at 69 and my parents divorced. Overnight everything that had been Christmas was erased. My mother did her best and we limped along until eventually based on protests from my mom of not getting any help, we no longer got a tree. Then I took a job in Mexico where I had to work during the holiday season. Christmas is now a shadow. Neither I, nor my sister come home, my father died in '93, we no longer exchange gifts, but my mother insists on sending me something, still.

I just could not in good faith, perhaps because I have no faith, I don't know, but I would not "do this" to a child, no matter how awesome, incredible and wonderful it may have seemed, the crushing blow at the end would not allow me to perpetuate Santa.