“You better watch out, you better not cry, better not pout, I'm telling you why. . ." – some elf talkin' 'bout the big man

When first married, my wife and I had to merge holiday traditions. Especially Christmas. When do you go to church? Do presents get opened the night before? Christmas morning like a Rockwell painting? Who hosts the party?
The list is long and navigating it takes years.
In my youth, we went to mass on Christmas Eve. Upon our return, Santa had visited, and a gift for each child was sitting out in the open, by the fireplace.
One year, the family put on their Christmas best and prepped for mass. As everyone was scrambling to get loaded into cars, I was left behind. Not like Home Alone, but like "where is Greg?" Bathroom time was calling, and once I was out, I knew something was up because it was quiet. I started looking around and that's when I saw it. Or saw them.
The presents.
Santa had already been to our house, which didn't make much sense, but I know what I saw, and I was excited. This is about the time one of my relatives came through the house looking for me. I met her at the top of the stairs where she put her hands on her hips, bent down towards me, narrowed her eyes, and said, "what did you see?" I didn't answer because there was a remote-control car that I hoped was for me and, well, this adult was a little scary.
Listen, she said, just because you know Santa isn't real, don't ruin it for your sister. Let's go.
Santa's not real?
I hadn't thought of that. I was maybe 6.
When we got back from church, we tore through the house, straight to the basement. There, on the little hearth that looked like a tiny stage, I put on a show. No one was more excited. No one screamed louder. There may have been jumping. A picture of enthusiasm for Santa’s largess. As a matter of fact, I have the picture. My Mom sent it a few years ago. I'm there on the tiny hearth standing next to my sister holding a white, Marlboro/Texaco, Indy-style, remote-control car.
I look at it and I look a lot like a little kid trying to act surprised.
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