As a young child Christmas was magical, I couldn’t wait for Christmas Eve, my mum would set up the goodie table, the huge tins of Roses and Quality Street, the obligatory selection boxes and box of fruit jellies would sit there seductively waiting for us to tuck in on Christmas Day.
We would watch Andy Williams on TV and being the youngest child (by 7 years) I would have a little nap before heading off to church for the carol service and midnight mass. After I would look up into the night sky and search for the Christmas star ⭐️, it was always there waiting for me. On Christmas Day we would race down stairs and there waiting for us would be a huge pile of presents, my main present was always from Father Christmas.
I believed wholeheartedly in the big, fat guy with the white beard and red coat who would sneak into the house whilst I was asleep and leave me these amazing gifts, I never once doubted his existence. But then just before my 9th Christmas I was told the truth about the big, fat man with the white beard and red coat and I was devastated, I remember sobbing at the top of the stairs, it was as though something irreplaceable had been taken away from me.
For me, I don’t think Christmas was ever the same again.
3 years ago I got together with my fiancé, he truly is a Christmas Elf, and I now have four amazing stepchildren, two of them are older and two are still young but having a Christmas Elf for a dad they all enjoy the magic of Christmas. Our youngest 2 believe in Father Christmas and know that he will visit both their mum’s house and our house with gifts for them, much the same as their older siblings did when they were younger, however I dread the day that they find out the truth. I’m sure they won’t be as devastated as I was, I’ve never met anyone that was, in fact most people are shocked at how badly I took the news, but at this time of year I think about it a lot.
I often think about what I would have done had I had my own children. Society dictates that we continue with the ‘Santa, illusion so as to recreate the magic for them every year, but I know that I could never have told them the truth because it would’ve upset me all over again. My children would have been the only 30 somethings that still believed in Santa because I didn’t have the courage to tell them the truth.
So here we are again, this will be my 44th Christmas and although I remember different things about different Christmases, it’s the Christmas when Santa disappeared that stands out the most…
Good job I have my own personal Christmas Elf now…