Lutz's+Formal+essay

I chose this piece because I really enjoyed writing about my experiances as a small child. This paper was about the dramatic experiance every child goes through when they find out that Santa Clause is not real. So this paper really gave me a chance to reflect and look back at my past. It took me back in time and made the events feel so real like they had just happened the day before. This allowed me to write a more descriptive and well developed paper.

Santa Isn’t Real?!!!  There is one moment in every child’s life when his or her outlook on things is changed forever. For a lot of people it’s when they find out Santa Claus isn’t real. It is a devastating moment when the parents finally break the news. Some break down and cry for days, but for me it was different. Let me take you back to December 24, 1997, the day my life changed FOREVER.  It all started this one gloomy day. I usually woke up extra early so I could catch all the good cartoons on television, but this morning I didn’t feel like it. When I looked out my window I saw that it was raining, yes raining. Here, in Southern Maryland, we don’t get much snow, and I don’t think I even remember having a “White Christmas”. Who wants to get up and start their day when it’s raining outside? So I stayed in bed and caught a few more hours of sleep until my mom had to pull me out of covers. She had made breakfast, and I, unfortunately, didn’t hear her calling so mine got cold. She was furious because she hates it when my siblings and I let food get cold. She had made French toast, my favorite. While I was enjoying my delectable (reheated) meal she informed me that today was Christmas Eve and we were heading to my Grandparents’ house soon so I needed to go get dressed and wash up. “Okay, sounds good. Wait… what?!!” How could I have forgotten it was Christmas? It was only a child’s favorite holiday of the year, besides his birthday of course. I choked down the rest of my breakfast and hurried off to my room to get changed.  We arrived at my grandparents’ house around 3 p.m. The party started at 2 p.m., but we were always late to every family event so it was no surprise to anyone when we walked in. I greeted everyone with hugs and kisses and got the usual remark from my Gramby, “Are you getting taller or am I just getting shorter?” I ran off to play with my three cousins. Time passed, we ate dinner and had desert. My Gramby always made the best food, so I loved going to visit her.  Then we had our gift exchange. Everyone had drawn names at Thanksgiving to find out who his or her secret partner was so that one had time to buy that special gift. That year I had my cousin, Trevor. We are the same age, and share similar interests so it was easy to choose a gift for him. I can’t seem to remember who had my name that year, but the best part was about to come: gifts for the grandchildren. These were the best! Each year my grandparents would give us all a letter in our name and a little cash prize. Now this doesn’t sound like much, but it meant a lot to me. Each letter was a piece to a train. The letters eventually would all connect to spell out our names. I still have my completed train to this day. After all the presents were opened, we gave each other goodbye kisses and left for home.  The ride home felt like it took years. All I could think about was getting home to my bed so that I could hurry off to sleep because everyone knows the quicker one goes to bed on Christmas Eve the quicker Christmas will arrive. Our car pulled in the driveway. My seat belt was quickly removed. “I must get to the bathroom before my brother!” I thought to myself. The car came to a stop; I bolted for the door as fast as my legs could carry me, hoping it would be unlocked. Much to my dismay, it was not. I had to wait, and what type of child waits patiently when they want something? I began yelling for my mom to hurry, that I needed to brush my teeth and go to bed because Santa was coming soon. She unlocked the door, and I blasted through, almost ripping her arm off. I did a ten second brush job on my teeth and hopped into bed. I was finally ready to sleep. So, I laid down expecting to fall asleep instantly, but I could not. I could only lay there thinking about all the toys Santa was going to bring. Three hours passed and still I just laid there awake, unable to sleep. I grew tired of just sitting there. Maybe Santa had already come while I was laying there. So I went to peak my head out my bedroom door. I slowly opened it and began to walk down the hall. I heard someone talking. Who could it be? Was it Santa? ” I must investigate” I told myself. I crept slowly towards the Christmas tree, I poked my head around the wall just to snag a look, and who did I find by the fireplace carefully placing presents and filling stockings? Santa? No, MY PARENTS! “This can’t be!” I said to myself. “There must be some mistake.” But there was no other explanation. There was no Santa. My parents had been the imposters all this time. They had been sneaking out every Christmas Eve while my siblings and I were asleep and placing the presents under the tree. My mind was racing; I didn’t know what to think. Then I was filled with complete anger. //Who ate the cookies every year? Who read my letters? Wait, all those letters I wrote were for nothing. How could this be?// I had been lied to over and over again. I couldn’t think I was so furious. I went back to bed as fast as I could and pulled the covers over my head. I could not think about Christmas anymore; I just wanted to forget all about the disappointment I was feeling.  The next morning, my brother crashed into my room ranting and raving about all the things SANTA gave him. Ha! I knew who really brought them for him, but I said nothing because I did not want to spoil his fun. I slowly rolled out of bed and headed to the Christmas tree. //Who cares about Christmas anymore?// I told myself. But that mindset quickly changed when I turned the corner and saw all the cool presents my parents had bought for me. As I opened the first gift labeled “To: Brandon/ From: Santa”, I looked to my father and said “Dad, this handwriting is just like yours.”  “No way-- that can’t be, son!” he said. //Yeah, whatever // I thought to myself as I tore into the other packages with my name on them. I looked around and all my family was beaming with joy and laughing and exchanging hugs.  Somehow the anger I felt at being deceived turned into a feeling of appreciation for all the hard work and effort my parents had been putting into making Christmas special for us for all those years! I guess it didn’t really matter that a jolly old man in a big red suit wasn’t the one delivering the joy. I think that was when I realized that maybe Christmas was about a whole lot more than food and presents. That is a story for another time…