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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.
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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.
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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.