Earlier this year, I wrote about how Frederic learned the truth about Santa Claus. I made him promise me that he wouldn't ruin anything for Lily, and he's really been great about it. Too great, actually. He's expressing his excitement about the pending visit, he wrote a letter, he's not even giving me a knowing nod. It's making me wonder if he deserves either an Academy Award, he's convinced himself to forget what he knows, or he actually forgot.
I'm guessing he's just being a good sport about it, but his convincing attitude reminds of myself when I was about his age. Even though we did not "technically" celebrate Christmas, I convinced myself that Santa was real. Or I tried real hard at the charade. Like Frederic, I remained on my best behavior during the holiday season, I wrote and sent a letter to the North Pole, and as the day/night approached, I was optimistic. My brother, Ira, played along. He invited me to sleep in his room with him on Christmas Eve, and he stood at his bedroom window with me pointing out lights in the night sky, wondering if any of them were Santa and his sleigh.
This may be our last year enjoying the full flavor of excitement. I'm fearful that Lily will learn the truth. The joy I felt that holiday season when I was ten was probably the most excited I've ever been about the occasion. Frederic may be hanging on, but I can tell the magic is fading. I wish it were that easy to bottle the magic or preserve the excitement.
Kind of like birthdays, I guess.
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