_ Santa Claus is real._

I know the story of Santa Claus. I know how he drops off gifts down my chimney every year, only if I’m a good kid though. I know he only gives me coal when I am naughty. I know he has reindeers, and I know he lives in the North Pole. I know he has a thick mustache and a plump body. I know Mama has to put up a Christmas tree and socks so that santa can put his gifts in there.

_ I know Santa Claus is real. _

My classmate Layla once told me, “Are you silly? Santa isn’t real! How can reindeers fly?” I stuck out my tongue at Layla and put my nose in the air, “It’s magic, Layla. My Mama says: secrets are never shared.”Layla just stares at me.

_ I think Santa Claus is real._

My cousin Sasha once shared, “My classmate doesn’t have a chimney but she receives Santa’s gifts, how is that possible?” I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe Santa has everybody’s keys, or he can walk through walls. Remember? He’s magical.” Sasha just purses her lips.

_I feel like Santa Claus is real. _

_ _My brother Joseph once made fun of me, “Oh my gosh, you actually believe Santa is real? That’s utterly hilarious. How can he reach every house in the world in the span of one night? How can he keep track of millions of children to see if they are good or naughty? How can he have the money to buy all the gifts? He can’t! Santa Claus is illogical and not real, can’t you see?” I stomped my feet and crossed my arms as I wailed, “He’s magical, Joseph. Santa Claus is real!” Joseph just laughs.

_Santa Claus might be real._

Yesterday, I asked Mama again, “Is Santa Claus real?” Mama just giggled heartily and put down her knitting kit. “Sweetie, of course he is. I have told you so many times, he’s magical. If you ever dare to not believe in him, coal is all you get for Christmas. I’m sure you don’t want that, right my angel?” Mama then smiled wrinkly at me and picked up her yarn to sew once again. Hearing Mama’s voice, the voice that taught me how to read, sang me lullabies, told me fables and encouraged me in the dark, how could I not trust Mama? I gazed into her eyes as they glistened, dancing as she crotcheted the maroon sweater. Of course I could trust Mama, she is after all Mama. Grinning, I ran into Mama’s warm arms, whispering, “Of course Mama, I believe you. And I believe in Santa Claus.”

_I know Santa Claus is real._

_ _Today is Christmas Eve and I am in bed with my soft toys: Ella and Nancy. Ella is an elephant, and Nancy is a newt. They are both very dear to me, I give them food, change their clothes, brush their- Oh no! I forgot to brush my teeth today. Usually, I never forget. But today, I must have been extremely eager for Santa to drop off my gifts. Do I go brush my teeth now, or do I risk getting cavities? Well, Mama has already tucked me into bed and it is how so dark and scary outside! But what if I get a painful toothache? Ugh, I have to go brush my teeth, especially because not brushing my teeth is naughty and Santa Claus hates naughty.

With that, I kick off my blanket and hop off bed, pulling up my PJs to prevent the pants from falling off. Oh no, where is the door?

“Mama?”I whisper, “Mama, are you there?”

No response.

I shudder. I have to do this alone, without Mama. Braving my fears, I put my shaking hands out cautiously, feeling around for the door knob. The dark is scary.

Ghost? Clown? Joseph?

They could be waiting around anywhere. I swing my hands around, ready to defend myself- Ouch! My knuckles hit a hard, cold surface. The walls! I lean forward and felt around the surface for anything new, and there it was! The smooth wooden door. Moments later, the knob falls right into my grip.

I twist the knob and amble out the door. The halls were- not dark? The lights were on, and I could see Mama at the end of the hallway with the Christmas tree. Opening my mouth, I was ready to call out for Mama, but then I saw Mama going near Santa’s sock. I am curious, and I want to know what’s next. So I keep quiet.

Then slowly, I watch horror unfold. Mama reaches for a pack of dolls and picks it up, then places it in _Santa’s_ sock. She ties up the sock again and smoothens it out.

The chimney is closed.

No. No. NO! This cannot be. My worst nightmare!

I am betrayed beyond belief. I clamp my lips shut and fight my tears like a warrior as I watch my dreams and beliefs shatter in front of my very eyes.

Mama lied.

_Santa Claus is not real. _

[playful and simplistic writing from a perspective of a child]