writing

Year 4: I (Do Not) Love Santa Claus

Lots of little kids are afraid of monsters or the boogeyman or ghosts. Not me. I was afraid of Santa Claus.
When I was four years old, my dad hired a Santa Claus to visit us. My brother claimed that he knew that the Santa Claus who’d visited us before was just a neighbor-friend from down the street. So, my dad thought he’d play a little trick on my brother. When Santa Claus arrived, my brother raced to the phone to call Mr. C. Apparently, the jaw-dropping look of surprise on my brother’s face when Mr. C answered the phone was priceless. I wouldn’t remember because I was still hiding.

I’d never been so terrified of anything as I was of that fat man in the red suit. He horrified me. Perhaps I’d been too young in the previous years to realize what was happening, or maybe I could truly sense this was a stranger. I don’t know. But for some reason, that Santa Claus struck fear into my very core. It could have been the mess of white hair dangling from his face. Or maybe it was the large belly that looked even fatter in his red suit. Maybe it was the red suit; I never really have been a fan of red. But it must have been something because there is picture after picture of me clinging to my mom. Whoever that white-haired, fat man was, I wanted no part of it.

This probably explains the shudder that traveled through me years later when one of my internet dates turned out to be a rat-faced Santa. Plump of belly and red of cheeks he was, and I wanted to run and hide. Just like the little four-year-old I used to be.

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7 thoughts on “Year 4: I (Do Not) Love Santa Claus

  1. Excellent!! Christmas is coming up lots in this challenge!! I was never afraid of Santa…but my two boys were!! What a waste of 40 minutes it was queueing up for the grotto last year just for them to freak out and run straight back out…minus presents!!

  2. Ha ha, love this. My older brother was afraid of Santa Claus too (I think for him it was the idea of someone breaking into our house at night) so my younger sister and I never even had the chance to believe in him. (We also didn’t ever get to take swimming lessons because my older brother failed his class three times because he was afraid to go in the water.)

  3. My 4-year story was a much happier version of a visit from Santa. I was a shy kid — I’ve wondered if, at some level, I knew Santa was my grandpa and that’s why I wasn’t afraid.

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