It was the winter of 2004. I was 7 at the time, just a naive, simple-minded second grader who still believed in the existence of Santa Claus. There were rumors that questioned the reality of Santa circulating around my class; but of course, I never believed them. I figured that some older kids were just making up these silly tales to poke fun at us younger ones.

When Christmas Day finally rolled around, I jumped out of bed and attacked my presents under the tree. That’s when I saw it. The writing on the gift tag looked vaguely familiar. It was almost as if I had seen the same handwriting before, on school permission slips and absence letters. Could Santa Claus have the same writing as my mom?

Needless to say, I confronted my mother about this Code Red situation. Spoiler alert: Santa Claus doesn’t exist. She confessed to posing as Santa for the past seven years of my life. As expected, I was pretty upset…for an hour or so. I mean, I still got presents, even without the magic of the chubby, jolly old man.

Santa Claus may not have been real, but his selfless spirit is. It’s during this time of year when everyone spends ample amounts of time and care, giving giving presents of all sorts and appreciating their loved ones, their supporters, their mentors. This is the season to give, not to take; to love, not to hate.

Adieu,

Michelle Bau