By Talynn Walker
When I was around 10 years old, I still had a strong belief in Santa. That was until Christmas Eve of 2011. Every year I would stay at my great grandmothers with my grandparents that came in from North Carolina. Me being the joyful little child that still had hope in a magically fat guy with reindeer, I slept on a super uncomfortable air mattress in front of the Christmas tree. I did that every Christmas waited for Santa, but what I got that year was NOT what I expected. Apparently, my step-grandfather would dress up as Santa every year to put Christmas presents under the tree, I never knew that because I never woke up to see Santa. Well, that year, I saw Santa. My grandfather came stumbling up the stairs from the basement, and into the living room. I heard him, but I acted as if I was asleep because I didn't want to scare Santa off. After he stumbled up the stairs and made it to the living room, he was trying to walk around my air mattress which was bigger that year. Next thing I knew he's tripping over my air mattress and as I got up to see if he is okay, I saw the Christmas tree falling in slow motion right on top of me. I wasn't even sad about finding out Santa wasn't real, I was pissed Santa tripped over me and almost killed me with my own damn Christmas tree. So forgive me for not singing carols as I walk down the hall...I have been bitter about anything to do with Santa ever since that night.