Innocent. I was only an innocent little fourth grader. I didn’t know much, but I thought I did. At the time, I still believed with my whole life that Santa Claus was the one who left my gifts under the Christmas tree. Parents would sometimes tell their kids that they were the ones who left the Christmas gifts under the tree. What? That’s craziness! Well, I did believe until my friend Mia announced that she no longer believed in Santa.

We were in the gym just before school was going to start. As always, it was the kind of loud that could make your ears bleed, and eventually cause you to go deaf. There were way too many people in the gym; it was packed full to the brim. All of us fourth grade girls were gathered together in a circle. I was tugging on my pony tail that my mom had put up to high, and was dressed in my best uniform since we had church that day. Except, my jumper from last year was too tight, pinching my waste, since I had grown a whopping two inches since last year.  At some point, the topic of Santa Claus was brought up in the conversation.

“I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore,” she exclaimed. “You guys do know that our parents are the ones who buy and put our Christmas presents under the tree, right?”

 In unison everyone then agreed with her.

No, it can’t be true! I thought to myself. Well, I guess it is I mean everyone else agreed with her. To not feel left out, I decided to agree with the group. Inside, though I still denied it, but I couldn’t tell them this.

The only idea that was on my mind the rest of the school day was how devasted I was.  My friends would ask what was wrong with me. “What’s wrong?” asked Mia.

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled. Only that you completely crushed all of my hopes and dreams earlier today, I thought to myself.

I was crushed, heartbroken, devasted. Except no one could know this. I just couldn’t bear the thought of people going around thinking that I was such a baby, that the fact Santa wasn’t real upset me. So, I kept it in until I locked eyes with my worn-out mother, who looked like she could fall asleep right then and there in the jam-packed carpool lane. I let all that I had discovered that day flow out of me.

With her eyes almost filled with tears, my mother yawned as I flung my body into the passenger seat. “How was your day, sweetie?” my mom uttered.

“You have no idea,” I muttered. I then finally got the courage to ask if what I had been told about Santa Claus was true. So, in a trembling voice full of trepidation, I asked, “Mom, is Santa Claus really not real?’

“What made you come up with such a question?” she replied.

“My friends told me at school today,” I explained, my eyes now almost full of tears.

“Oh, is that so?” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” I said now bawling my eyes out. “It is it true?” I sobbed.

“Yes, it is. I was waiting to tell you until you figured it out your own.” My heart stopped and skipped a beat.

Did she just say what I think she did? I thought. Santa really isn’t real? I couldn’t believe my ears. If my mom said it was true, then my friends really weren’t lying at all. Santa Claus really is a made-up person. Then it hit me. My parents had been telling a white lie my whole long, eventful nine years of life. How dare they mislead me about this! All this time they have been lying to me about how those big-bowed, wrapped presents got under the Christmas tree in our living room.

I was furious. “How could you lie to me?” I yelled with a raging voice.

“Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved,” she answered. I was still innocent, just not in the same way that I was before.