In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “When Childhood Ends.”
I recall an ‘adult’ coversation I had with my mother when I was all of six. I remember receiving a little black radio for Christmas amongst a whole lot of other gifts. I went to my mother in the kitchen and asked her to be honest with me. Does Santa really exist? She turned to look at me, are you wanting to know the truth? Yes, I replied, I’m here to ask. She said to me, your Dad is Santa and the gifts are from him. I felt so grownup to be told the truth, and to be in on the ‘grownup’ secret. It was strange looking at the gifts and knowing that they were not randomly selected by Santa, but by my father himself.