The rumors started when I was five years old. I heard whispers on the playground. I witnessed hushed conversations in the hallways. But I was five. I refused to believe it. Word on the street was that Santa didn’t really exist.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. I was very secretive about my plans. When it was my turn to sit on Santa’s lap, I told him that I wanted one thing – a scooter. I did not tell my parents. I did not tell my brother. I did not tell my friends. No one knew what I asked for from Santa. If I got the scooter, then Santa was for real.
On Christmas morning I raced to the tree. And there it was — a scooter! I was so happy for two things – the scooter and for Santa’s existence. That one experience carried me for years – and when kids would say that Santa didn’t exist, I would share my story and make them believers again. I’m pretty sure I believed in Santa to an almost embarrassingly old age.
What I didn’t know at the time was that my parents were friends with the Santa that I visited. We lived overseas and the American community was small. He relayed my wish to my parents. Santa really is pretty great!