I remember the day the first doubt of Santa Claus came into my mind. I was walking home from school in less than balmy wintry conditions with a friend of mine. We were 8 or 9, and every day we took the same back way together. I was in love with him of course. But I do that, fall in love with beauty, people, places and ideas easily. Kyle turned to me and said, I saw my mom and dad filling our stockings, he said flat out he was pretty sure Santa wasn’t real. It was one of those things you don’t really want to know. You want to just cover your ears and sing lalalala. But the bell had been rung, the moment of doubt had been placed. It may have been one of my first moments that I could describe as Biblical, where the tree of knowledge was seen, not clear, not well understood, but tainted now forever in my own paradise of childlike innocence. I hold no hard feelings whatsoever, I mean I forgive just as easily as I love. But I being exposed to the doubt, didn’t change my feelings about the magic in Christmas. My dad continued to leave a footprint in the stones in the fireplace, we continued to leave cookies and rum for Santa …yes rum. And I still get a little piss offed when one of my kids stumbles across a not so well hidden item that was for their stocking that I know would confirm their doubt about the true existence of Santa Claus. But this is what I choose, I choose to believe, i choose to track Santa on Norad through his journey, I choose to dance in the magic of the white lights and put out the MILK and cookies for Santa. Hellz, if I find glitter, we may even put reindeer food on our lawn. Because I don’t want to be a grown up today or tomorrow. The year is full of adulting moments that just for tonite, I will put aside.