I remember when Santa Clause died.

Santa Clause.

It wasn’t in the news, and it wasn’t talked about the next day. In fact, people pretty much went on with their lives.

I was six years old when I was told by my kindergarten teacher, Ms. Strouse, to write a letter to Santa Clause.

“Make a list of five things that you want,” she said. “Put the thing you want the most at number one.”

I did, of course, follow her instructions. Though I don’t remember what I asked for, I’m sure it was something awesome and not what the others kids were asking for. Bikes? Please.

We finished our letters and gave them to the teacher, who informed us that she would be mailing them to Santa Clause straight away!

A random memory that I have from my days in elementary school is teachers always sending you home with papers to show your parents. Or, rather, me stuffing newsletters and various flyers into my backpack for my mom to discover months later. And she did. And she would ask my why I didn’t give it to her sooner. And I never had a good answer.

But for the really important papers – parent-teacher conference dates, open houses, uniforms vs. no uniforms ballots – they would safety pin them to our shirts. That way we couldn’t stuff them anywhere.

And there I was – as other children boarded the bus, seats quickly filling up around me, I unpinned the important note-to-my-parent from my shirt:

“Dear Santa,” it read.

It was my letter to Santa. Exactly. Not rewritten in adult-type language that I may or may not have been to understand. Just folded with a “For Parent” sticker on the outside.

How stupid could they have been? Did they really think that no one would open the letter? I started to get so angry sitting there on that stupid yellow bus. And why am I on the bus, anyway? I hate the bus. I hate Santa. I hate people who lie.

It was then when I realized that Santa was dead. And who knew for how long?

I looked around the bus and saw that I was the only one who had unpinned the letter from my shirt. I thought to myself, “Just because Santa died for me, did that mean that he had to die for everyone else?”

The answer was YES.

I immediately told all the other children what I had discovered. Some cried, some laughed, and a few already knew the truth.

I could have felt horrible. Instead, I blamed the entire incident on the school. If it weren’t for Ms. Strouse and her stupid idea, none of this would have happened.

Bitch.