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Truth be known
The year I found out the truth about Santa Claus, it was Christmas Eve 1954 — the year I was 10 years old. My brother Terry and l were sleeping on beds that had been set up in the basement of my grandmother's home, with whom we lived.
I could not close my eyes.
Christmas Eve! The anticipation! The excitement!
I pulled the bed covers over my head and pretended that my mind was miles away in dreamland when actually I had never been more wide awake with eager expectedness. I was positively sure there was a Santa.
Classmates had told me that he was not real, that he did not exist.
I knew different.
He was very real.
That particular year I was going to put him to the test.
The year before that Christmas, Santa brought me a little doll called Tiny Tears that I dearly loved. She could cry "real" tears from small holes near her eyes, and she could wet her diaper! She had molded, painted-on hair and came with a trunk full of clothes, plenty of diapers and even tissues to dry her tears.
(Sometimes Santa had to order toys from regular stores because he could not make them all.)
The year I was 10, the toy company that made Tiny Tears created a new version. This one had "real" curly, dark brown hair that could be washed but in all other ways was exactly the same.
In October I told my grandmother that I wanted Santa to bring me that doll. (I always liked to plan ahead, thinking every other girl on Santa's list would be vying for the same doll, and he might run out of them.) She was very angry and told me I was spoiled. I already had a Tiny Tears doll, and the only difference was the hair. I should not be so greedy. If Santa knew how bad I really was, I would probably get nothing. I should ask Santa to give the new Tiny Tears to a little girl who did not have any doll.
I was crestfallen but undaunted. I would say no more to my grandmother about that doll or anything to do with my Christmas wishes. I would take it to a higher level.
I wrote a letter to Santa, without anyone knowing, took a stamp from the desk and walked two blocks over to mail it to make sure it got into the right hands. The secret wish was locked in my letter to Santa, and he — and only he — would read it.
When asked what I wanted for Christmas, I said, "Santa will know what to bring."
On Christmas morning, before dawn, I tried to wake my brother as we had planned the night before, but as was usual, he was too sleepy that early. I was not. I crept up the stairs to a black-and-white shadowed living room. Silhouetted in front of the Christmas tree was a bathinette that held real running water, a clothesline and clothespins to hang up little wet diapers, a washcloth and towel to pamper a princess, a small bar of Ivory soap and a small bottle of shampoo to wash, yes wash, the hair of the little curly haired Tiny Tears that sat in the bathinette. She was exactly the same as the doll l had except for the hair.
My grandmother was so surprised!!!
This was the year I knew once and for all: Santa is real.
