I’m in college and home for the holidays. My stepmother and I used to get along, but that stopped once she started having her own children. She’s had several more children, so even though I’m in college, I have a seven-year-old brother and a three-year-old sister. During a big family dinner, the adults are sitting around and talking while the kids run off to play.
Aunt: “What is Santa getting [Brother] this year?”
Stepmom: “Probably a [Toy]. He won’t stop talking about it. It was the only thing that he mentioned in his letter to Santa.”
Me: “So, he still believes in Santa?”
Stepmom: “Of course he does. He’s only seven! We’ve got a few more years before he figures it out.”
Me: “I thought six years old was old enough to be told the truth.”
Uncle: “That… feels young. College got you jaded already, [My Name]?”
Aunt: “Well, you know she’s not a big fan of Christmas.”
Me: “Actually, I got that from [Stepmom], when she told me at six years old that I was big enough to know that Santa wasn’t real.”
Stepmom: “Oh, pshaw. It was so long ago. I do remember you cried and cried and cried!“
She laughs.
Me: “Probably because I was six, it was Christmas Day, and I was literally still opening presents.”
Stepmom: “No, it wasn’t. It was—”
Me: “No, it was Christmas. I remember because Grandma came to visit and found me sobbing on the floor while you yelled at me and threatened to throw my remaining gifts into the fireplace if I didn’t ‘straighten up’. That was the big fight you two had that got Grandma banished from our house. You said she had disrespected you, and then you threw everyone’s remaining gifts into the fire and told everyone it was my fault. There are pictures of the burned gifts. I remember it very clearly. The next year, I didn’t get any gifts at all. [Stepmom] ‘forgot’ to get me any but made me watch everyone else open gifts, and then she took pictures of me crying. They’re in the photo album and they’re dated if you want proof.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence.
Uncle: *To me* “No f****** wonder you never come home.”
Years and years later, my father finally divorced her. He admitted that he’d always known she was like that to me, but it was “too much work” to get involved. I later learned via his sister that he doesn’t understand why I never come around or speak to him.
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