3 Attachment(s)
A Cautionary Tale About Santa (by Odinn7)
When I was about 3 years old, I had one of the worst experiences I can remember happening to me for Christmas. So there it was, Christmas Eve and we were all in the kitchen making Jiffy-Pop popcorn.
How wonderful that was! The smell of it as it was starting to pop with that butter substitute burning away. Great memory and I can still almost smell it now. So anyway, it had just started popping and the next thing I know, I hear this bell ringing in the family room.
A bell? What is that? Oh no! Now someone is talking AND ringing the bell! What is he saying? "Ho-Ho-Ho!"... Who has broken into our house and why are my parents not panicking? Then, my mother takes my hand and tells me that we were going to see who it is. She walks me and my 2 sisters into the room and there he was! Who is that fat guy with the beard and red suit? Why is he in my house! I mean, I know who Santa is in theory but really? In my house? Now? He just kept over-doing the "Ho-Ho-Ho" stuff and ringing the bell.
My parents seemed all excited! My sisters were excited! Me? I was terrified! So my oldest sister went and sat on his lap and talked to him. She seemed very happy. My youngest sister did the same thing. When they were done, my mother turned to me and asked if I wanted to sit on Santa's lap. I shook my head to indicate that I did not want to. My mother and father kept telling me to do it, everything would be OK. I still didn't want to and I started backing away. Santa then reached out and grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him while my parents, the ones who were supposed to protect me, almost cheered on. I started screaming and kicking and crying but the more I fought, the harder I got pulled towards him. I threw myself to the ground and he started lifting me and there were my parents... all too eager to help him out. I found myself sitting on his lap, still screaming and crying. I couldn't even talk and had no desire to do so.
Finally, they let me get away from him but by that time I was scarred for life. Not only did I stay awake all night for fear that he would be back to grab me, but I had lost faith in my parents ability or desire to protect me. I grew out of it eventually but I have to say, that whole thing has stayed with me. I remember it every year. It seemed like a fun thing to them, I'm sure, but I don't think they ever really knew what kind of effect that had on me at the time.
It taught me to respect my daughter's wishes when she was younger. She didn't want to sit with the Easter Bunny and I didn't force her. She didn't want to sit with Santa, I didn't force her. It's fun, it's cute... but only if the kid is OK with it.
