The other day I mentioned the time I realized Santa wasn’t real. Well, my mother read it and told me a bit of the story I didn’t remember at all:

“I wanted to add the other event of that night that you seem unaware of. I saw the look on your face as you came in the room and thought you might have seen your father rushing out. Once you were back in your room, your father and I discussed whether you might have seen something. On the off chance that you had, we managed to find an old rattle stashed in a box of kiddie toys in the closet, one that had bells on it. We waited a bit, and then shook it a bit, hoping you’d hear the bells and assume it was Santa’s sleigh and that anything you’d seen would lessen in importance. Since you never said anything about doubting Santa the next day, we let well enough alone and did not question you.”

So there you go. My parents, it would seem, tried to redirect things. It worked so well I don’t even remember them doing it. I don’t know that I even heard the noise, or if I did that I thought it was what they wanted me to think. But it is kinda sweet that they tried, isn’t it?