Oddly, I never had any kind of “Santa moment" as a kid. I don’t remember stopping believing in Santa, I just remember enjoying the fantasy of it.

But then we lived in a working class neighborhood where everyone did about equally well financially. I’m talking about the late 60s early 70s when factory jobs were still very well paying and working dads could support a family well on one income. I didn’t stress about getting more presents than other kids because we all got spoiled pretty badly.

I remember one day, I must have been about eight, when my dad took me out for ice cream. I still remember the old fashioned ice cream parlor. He was really nervous when he told me Santa didn’t exist. Looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Well, obviously,” I said.

We ate butter pecan ice cream and talked for a while, and then he said, “Um, you know about the Easter Bunny and the tooth fairy too?”

I just nodded.

Written by

Writer. Runner. Marine. Airman. Former LGBTQ and HIV activist. Former ActUpNY and Queer Nation. Polyglot. Middle-aged, uppity faggot. jamesfinnwrites@gmail.com

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