I am almost five years old. We are living in a very old house that belongs to my grandmother. We haven't lived there long, maybe a year. I like Grandma's house. It is old and warm and cozy. The floorboards creak when you walk across the living room. It has a big fireplace with a wide brick hearth. And there are acres and acres of pasture for me to explore. Grandma has animals, too. Horses, cows, pigs, chickens. And a two-hole outhouse.

That outhouse is the only thing I don't like about my new living quarters. In the winter it is *cold* out there. And at night, shivering and shaking I make my way down the narrow moonlit path to the rickety wooden structure with the quarter-moon cut in the door. There are spiders and stuff in there. I can't see where they are in the dark. It's kinda creepy.

But today is Christmas Eve. I am too excited to live. Santa will be coming in just a few hours!! My heart races with anticipation. How will I ever go to sleep? Oh, gosh, it is so hard to sleep on Christmas Eve. I will go to bed and close my eyes but sleep won't come. My heart will pound harder and harder as I lay in my bed praying for the hours to pass, completely wired out of my mind with visions of Santa.

I toast myself in front of the fire, letting my flannel nightgown absorb as much heat as I can stand. Then I turn and toast my back side. I look at our big, beautiful Christmas tree, my heart soaring with the knowledge that in just a little while Santa will be coming down this very chimney and crossing the room to that very tree and maybe leaving something there for me. Maybe. If I've been a good enough little girl. Last time I checked, it was still up in the air. A hug and a kiss for Mama, then I run to the bed and jump in. I sink way down into the feather mattress and Mama pulls the covers up tight.

I think I will never sleep but I do, and the next thing I know I am waking up. I need to go to the bathroom. I slip out of bed and head for the kitchen and the back door. Suddenly I hear something. A noise of some kind. I stop in my tracks. I hear the noise again! It is coming from the direction of the living room.

I turn and run to the living room. All is quiet and dark. I stand for a minute and listen. Thwack, whump! There's the noise again! It's coming from the front porch. Now what in the world is going on out there? I move silently across the room, open the door, and step outside.

My eyes grow wide as I take in the scene. Daddy and Uncle Sterling are pulling my brother's brand new bicycle out of a box. Now isn't that the bicycle that Santa is supposed to bring him for Christmas? The men both groan out loud and Uncle Sterling curses when he sees me. "Hot damn, George!" And there, in a moment of intense transformation, my very first illusion bites the dust.

Santa Claus is just a bunch of jive.

It all comes together for me then. My first emotion is one of severe disappointment. Oh, no, there is no Santa Claus after all! A split-second later, I am angry. How dare they lie to me all this time?!! Why do they tell you stuff like that if it's not true?

Then the anger ebbs as revelation flows and all the pieces of the Great Santa Mystery finally fall into place.

So *that's* how Santa always knows everything about what everybody wants! And that's how Santa knows whether we've been bad or good. And that's how Santa gets around to all those millions of homes in a single night ... Santa is really everybody's lying, scheming parents!

Of course. It is all so simple.

Now I understand.

I *thought* I had seen Santa's reindeer in the attic of our Houston house one time. I had sure wondered about that. I mean, if those were real reindeer, what were they doing in our attic? And that Santa Claus I met once at the Foley's store ... I knew there wasn't something quite right about that Santa!

So ... it is all a ruse by the grownups.

They lie. They lie like a rug.

I'll bet they're eating the milk and cookies, too!