Andy was about 8 years old, just around the time kids start realizing Santa is not “real.”  I knew it would be the last year for him in that regard, and I wanted to make it  magical.  The train was set up on the dining room table and in the morning the Christmas tree would be the only light along with a few “houses” that were lit up.  It was truly a fantasy scene. Andy got up in the morning and indeed, was thrilled and excited at Santa’s present.  The magic had worked!

Later that day Andy went to his friend’s house to exchange Christmas morning stories. Apparently his buddy knew the “truth” and when Andy told him he got a train from Santa – well, the “truth” came out.

Andy had been home awhile and was lingering around the train set when he asked me the question: “Mom, did this train set really come from Santa?”  He turned and looked at me, half wanting to know the answer and half not.  I defy any mother to look into her child’s eyes when that child is expecting the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God, and lie to him.

“No, Andy, he didn’t.  It was from Dad and me.”

There are a zillion motherhood moments that are painful – there is not enough space on all the computers in the world to list them.  The light that left Andy’s eyes at that moment is right in my top five so far.  The magic, just like that, was gone.  He knew how the rabbit came out of the hat, how the card he placed on the top of the pack could be picked out of the middle again by the magician, how the elephant disappears.  My heart broke as suddenly the train was just a train.

Andy is a grown man now.   He has a vibrant and creative life.  He’s funny and clever.    I’m sure he doesn’t recall that moment at all, thank God. But try as I might, I can never forget the moment I watched, right before my very eyes, the childhood magic of Santa Claus die in his.