I’m kind of ashamed to admit something. I believed in Santa Claus until I was 11 years old. I was so embarrassed about this fact that I wouldn’t even admit it to anyone until about four years ago when I met someone that believed until they were 12. To be honest it’s not the fact that I believed until I was 11 that I’m ashamed of, it’s the fact that all the evidence was stacked up against Santa.
The primary piece of evidence was that my brother never got coal in his stocking. The legend of Santa is that if a kid is nice he gets a present or candy in his stocking, and if he is naughty he gets coal. Well, as far as I was concerned my brother was about as naughty as a kid could get. I mean seriously, one time he asked me to get him his coat because he was cold, and he could have perfectly well gotten it for himself. Also, he always wanted to be Player 1 on Nintendo games.
It never added up, every year I expected that he’d find coal in his stocking, and every year he didn’t get it.
Okay, alright, I have to admit something else, I’m not actually ashamed of the fact that I believed in Santa even though there was evidence stacked up against his existence. What I’m really ashamed of is that I thought my brother was such a terrible person when, in fact, he wasn’t. Indeed, my brother was perfectly fine. When we were young he was pretty much what you’d expect from a brother. Sure we fought (and, sure, sometimes blood was involved), but we also played. And I should admit that one time he saved me from drowning. So, when it all comes down to it, I’d say he deserved presents and candy after all, and I’m ashamed that I thought otherwise.
Wait a minute! He deserved candy and presents after all?! Hold on… Didn’t I say that was the evidence against Santa? Well now, let me think a minute, I think I may have been wrong. I think maybe there is a Santa after all! Nice!