Santa Claus

I always wanted to believe in Santa Claus. Obviously, that naiveté could be interpreted in many ways by a professional therapist.

Possibly it was due to fear of leaving the tightly knit household where I spent my early years, or

Possibly it was my wish not to disappoint my beloved Dad who tried so hard to make my childhood less complicated and holidays so festive.

So I pretended for a long time when the bedrooms had no doors and the traditional Yule tree stood tall at the end of a long hall in the living room.

Until I had to face reality.

After lying quietly in bed on that memorable Christmas Eve my sister and I heard the whispering from the nearby room.

Ellen, five years younger and twenty years wiser, whispered:

“There is no Santa Claus, I hear Dad putting presents under the tree.”

Before I could stop her, my outspoken sibling called out asking my parents if she was right.

It was that night the truth was revealed, and I had to acknowledge there was no Santa Claus.

And I wondered if I, too, had known all along, and just pretended to believe.

Until recently, I religiously read the NYT, The NY Post, WSJ and several other daily news sources.

I listened to various competitive news channels later in the day usually while I was enjoying dinner.

Now I realize I may have been pretending again.

Because what I read and heard sometimes ( if not always) was not true.

And like Santa Claus, it was a fantasy I wanted to believe.