Another memory, by Sweet Lisa

 

 

I remember that day, the day my imagination walked away.

 I was about six, playing in the sandbox of my school when one of my brother’s friends came to me and asked “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

Of course, I answered “yes”…

 He laughed at me and he left.

Then, another boy came and asked the same question but this time, I told him I didn’t believe in Father Christmas.

 He said “Oh, it’s not fun” and left.

I thought about this all day long.

So when I came back home I interrogated my mother to know if he existed, she asked me “you want the truth of children or the adults truth?”

I said I wanted the real truth so she confessed.

Two years later, in my class, we had to write the way we discovered Father Christmas doesn’t exist so I thought that it was just after this class that the boys showed up and interrogated me about this.

 

Santa Claus doesn’t exist.

Santa Claus actually is our parents, our family.

 But who is supposed to be Father Christmas?

 Isn’t he someone who brings presents to make us happy at least one day in the year?

Maybe we should keep on believing in him, because my best gift is with me every day, every night since I was born: my parents.

And who brought them on earth? God?  I don’t think so.

Actually, I don’t know but I’d rather be convinced about someone who can make the reindeers fly and give to everyone the happiness that they deserve.

SweetLisa.