Defending My Character: A Blog of Rebuttal

My character has been defamed, and it's up to me to refame it!

This is the cover of the [absolutely gorgeous] scrapbook that my beautiful, talented sister, Karen, made for me, and for each of my siblings this Christmas.

Our family has been greatly blessed by Karen's talent and generosity, and over the years, we have all amassed a large collection of these treasures. I can't stress enough how important it is that you not think me ungrateful. But still...

On the page dedicated to Christmas 1967, we read, in part:

Unfortunately, this is the year that Kate made sure Mark no longer believed in Santa Claus! She was snooping for presents in the basement and found ALL of our gifts! Of course she had to drag us all down there to see them...The real kicker was that Mark got a bike that year, and Mom and Dad were ready with the camera to get the excitement on Christmas morning...the reaction was not what they had hoped for...

I'm sure that that's how Karen remembers it. But it's not how I remember it. The real truth is probably somewhere in between; I've had enough experience with failing memories lately to know that mine is not infallible. But now, look at this picture from that same page...

That's me -- the tall one in the back. The innocent-looking one. Do I look like someone who would deliberately set out to ruin a child's delusions of Santa Claus?!! Certainly not! True, another year, another Christmas, I may have beckoned a couple of my sisters into the pantry, where I had possibly discovered three coordinated skirt-and-sweater sets, and perhaps a toy or two. (And if I did that, my intentions would have been pure -- I would have only wanted to share my exciting discovery -- those skirts and sweaters were gorgeous!) But I am absolutely certain that Mom and Dad never hid anything in the basement of that house on Franklin Street. That was a dark, nasty, scary place that had a cistern in one corner!

No. I clearly remember that Christmas Eve of 1967. I was wide awake. (I never slept on Christmas Eve.) Mom and Dad had gone to bed and the house was quiet. I decided that, since I was awake anyway, I might as well go downstairs and check out what was under the tree...

HOLY CRAP -- MY BROTHER GOT A BIKE!

I knew for certain that I would positively explode if I didn't share this information at once! I crept back upstairs and woke up the other kids. I know these were my exact words: "You guys, Santa came!" (See -- I absolutely did not try to make sure that Mark -- or anyone else -- no longer believed in Santa Claus!)

So we all traipsed downstairs. If only Mom and and Dad had been ready with their camera then. Because Mark was beside himself with excitement. "I got a bike," he whispered, awestruck. (I admonished him to act surprised in the morning so that Mom and Dad wouldn't know he'd already seen this wonderful surprise.)

Somehow, we all got back to bed without our parents hearing us. I don't think any of us slept. Somehow morning arrived. (Probably 5:00 a.m., but still morning, if you're a kid and it's Christmas.) Mom made sure we all stayed in our rooms until they were downstairs with the lights on and the camera ready. Giddy with excitement, and adorable in our pink flannel gowns (except for Mark), we tumbled down the stairs.

I knew I should have spent some time rehearsing my brother. I don't know why I trusted him to pull off "surprised and excited." He looked at what was obviously the most magnificent gift beside the tree -- a brand new, red two-wheeler -- and said, "A bike," in the same tone of voice he would have used to say "Cereal."

A tragedy, indeed, as Karen said in the last sentence of her narrative. But not the tragedy of a big sister giving away the secret of Christmas. The tragedy of a big sister who couldn't stay in bed, couldn't keep a secret, and couldn't think of anyone but herself in the excitement of a moment.

I am so sorry that I ruined Mom and Dad's Christmas that year. But I don't think I'm the villain I was made out to be. At least not the way I remember it.