Christmas circa 1995. My sister and I walked tentatively down the stairs and into the family room only to notice a THIRD stocking and a letter from THE Santa Claus. Mom read the letter aloud and instantly I began to cry, I was going to have a baby brother or sister. You probably thought I cried because I was overjoyed. No, no. I was pissed off that after seven years of being the baby of the family I would be downgraded to middle-child status! Seriously, we have this documented on videotape and it’s not one of my proudest moments, in fact I feel kind of badly about it.
After reading the letter several times over, I felt comforted and (eventually) I felt excited for the new addition to the family. But just to be clear – Joseph, you are the little brother I didn’t know I wanted and our family would not be complete without you. For me, Christmas has always been synonymous with this letter, with Santa telling me that Mom wasn’t just fat but pregnant, with the prospect of new additions to the family 😉 , with love, and with magic. Christmas always reminds me of this letter, of the hope that floated up in my heart knowing that Santa wrote a letter addressed to me and my sister.
We finally got a letter back from Santa and it was magical.