why i'm the way i am
I've really been feeling the spirit lately. For some reason, I'm really looking forward to this Christmas--maybe because I can't wait for this year to be over.
One Christmas, I was determined to stay up all night until Santa Claus came. I totally believed that he existed, but I guess I wanted to meet him and holla at my boy. Santa hooked me up with plenty of cool shit in the past, and I wanted to show him my appreciation.
Usually, on Christmas Eve, we were at my relative's house in New Jersey. Christmas Eve was for my father's side of the family. I don't remember why, but we were hosting Christmas Eve at our house that year. I'm not sure how old I was, but I couldn't have been older than the third grade, because we were still in the old duplex in the shitty suburban part of Staten Island (which I suppose is a label you could give to 89% of the borough).
Gifts were opened from all the relatives, and all the dinner and cake had given way to coffee. Most everyone had gone, my sister was put to bed, and I was still awake, anxiously waiting to meet Mr. Claus. I could be mixing up Christmases, but I think it was unseasonably hot that year, like in the 70s or something, which is so not the norm for New York in late December.
The adults were trying to get me to bed, but I was stubborn. I wasn't like my sister, I was always a night owl anyway, and though I did go to bed at a normal time for a child my age, I usually laid awake in bed much of the night before I finally drifted off. Not much has changed in that respect. Sometime after midnight, the adults, especially my parents, started to get antsy, and encouraged me to go to sleep. They told me things like, "Santa won't come if you're awake," but I figured that was total horseshit. I mean, he just had to show up eventually, and why would someone who was so down with kids not want to meet one? I wasn't a perfect angel, but I knew I wasn't on the Naughty list.
At about 2am, I still held fast to my decree that I would not go to bed until Santa showed up. I was deliriously tired, and my parents became more adamant that Santa would not show up until I went to sleep. I think they gave me some scientific reason why that was so, but I don't remember. As a side note, that old duplex had a bathroom connected to my parent's bedroom, the master bedroom. Every year around Christmas time, that bathroom would go out of order. We never questioned it, basically because we never noticed, I guess. That's where my parents kept the gifts.
I was yawning and getting cranky from lack of sleep and my mom and dad just wanted me to go to bed so they could put out the gifts and go to sleep themselves. I think I was half unconscious when I was brought into my room. I remember laying in bed pleading with my mom to let me stay awake so I could see Santa and she kept with the whole "you won't be able to see him and he won't come unless you sleep" line. But I pleaded...and pleaded...and pleaded...and....
"James. There's no Santa Claus," my mom said. "Go to sleep."
And I did. To this day she laughingly denies that ever happened. But I know it did. One day I'll get her to fess up.
One Christmas, I was determined to stay up all night until Santa Claus came. I totally believed that he existed, but I guess I wanted to meet him and holla at my boy. Santa hooked me up with plenty of cool shit in the past, and I wanted to show him my appreciation.
Usually, on Christmas Eve, we were at my relative's house in New Jersey. Christmas Eve was for my father's side of the family. I don't remember why, but we were hosting Christmas Eve at our house that year. I'm not sure how old I was, but I couldn't have been older than the third grade, because we were still in the old duplex in the shitty suburban part of Staten Island (which I suppose is a label you could give to 89% of the borough).
Gifts were opened from all the relatives, and all the dinner and cake had given way to coffee. Most everyone had gone, my sister was put to bed, and I was still awake, anxiously waiting to meet Mr. Claus. I could be mixing up Christmases, but I think it was unseasonably hot that year, like in the 70s or something, which is so not the norm for New York in late December.
The adults were trying to get me to bed, but I was stubborn. I wasn't like my sister, I was always a night owl anyway, and though I did go to bed at a normal time for a child my age, I usually laid awake in bed much of the night before I finally drifted off. Not much has changed in that respect. Sometime after midnight, the adults, especially my parents, started to get antsy, and encouraged me to go to sleep. They told me things like, "Santa won't come if you're awake," but I figured that was total horseshit. I mean, he just had to show up eventually, and why would someone who was so down with kids not want to meet one? I wasn't a perfect angel, but I knew I wasn't on the Naughty list.
At about 2am, I still held fast to my decree that I would not go to bed until Santa showed up. I was deliriously tired, and my parents became more adamant that Santa would not show up until I went to sleep. I think they gave me some scientific reason why that was so, but I don't remember. As a side note, that old duplex had a bathroom connected to my parent's bedroom, the master bedroom. Every year around Christmas time, that bathroom would go out of order. We never questioned it, basically because we never noticed, I guess. That's where my parents kept the gifts.
I was yawning and getting cranky from lack of sleep and my mom and dad just wanted me to go to bed so they could put out the gifts and go to sleep themselves. I think I was half unconscious when I was brought into my room. I remember laying in bed pleading with my mom to let me stay awake so I could see Santa and she kept with the whole "you won't be able to see him and he won't come unless you sleep" line. But I pleaded...and pleaded...and pleaded...and....
"James. There's no Santa Claus," my mom said. "Go to sleep."
And I did. To this day she laughingly denies that ever happened. But I know it did. One day I'll get her to fess up.
3 comments:
Great story J! You were a stubborn little shit were'nt you! So you never did tell us if you drifted off to sleep or not!
I think your parents were more traumatized by that night than you were.
yes, michelle. i went to sleep right after she said that. i ended up believing in santa the next year, but i only did because i wanted to. i knew what was up.
r, serves them right for lying to me all those years. 323.5.
-j.
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