NO MORE SANTA
When I was eight years old, I discovered who Santa Claus really was. Two weeks before Christmas, while snooping in my parents’ room, I discovered several gifts hidden behind the headboard of their bed. At the time, it puzzled me why the presents were there, but since I was not supposed to be in the room, I dared not ask any questions. Later, on Christmas morning, I discovered the same packages under the tree, only they were labeled from Santa. This confused me, so not wanting to have my faith in the jolly red-suited elf violated, I decided that Santa must have sent the presents early through the Post Office. Although there was a nagging feeling that things were not quite right. I continued to cling to my childish belief. Several months later, my father asked me if I still believed in Santa. I don’t know why he asked me that question, but all of a sudden, the ugly realization was…
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