Yesterday, a friend of mine shared this glorious, glorious piece of Internet with me through Facebook.

This image is just basically a link to go to the article. Click it and giggle. Thanks, Deadspin!

Click here to read the amazing thing, right now, in another window so you can come back and read this RIGHT AFTER.

Before that very moment, I had never actively considered parental responses to Christmas Lists. I sort of let all those badly-written, pleading letters to Santa drift away in my brain. Surely they were not a source of entertainment for my parents*.

*In hindsight, I think maybe I’ve been sort of dense.

In honor of this revelation, I have decided to recreate some of my childhood Christmas lists, as I remember them, with my parents’ respective responses as I imagine them. Because I believe in sharing.

Letter to Santa, Age 6:

Terrible handwriting recreated for effect and realism. And no, “GIJOs” does not mean I was asking for giggalos. 

Parental Reaction:
Mom: Awww! She wrote a letter to Santa! Precious!
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.
Mom: And honey, she wants Star Trek!
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.
Mom: We should get her a kitten.
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.

Letter to Santa, Age 11:

I was not above buttering up Santa. Or dotting my i’s with hearts.

Parental Reaction:
Mom: Awww! She wrote a letter to Santa! Precious!
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.
Mom: And honey, she wants world peace!
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.
Mom: We should get her a kitten.
Dad: She cannot have a kitten. 

Letter to Santa, Age 14:

I was really not going to give up on Santa. Or a kitten. Even though I already had a cat.

Parental Reaction:
Mom: Honey, I’m concerned. She wrote a letter to Santa!
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.
Mom: Does she still believe in Santa?
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.
Mom: We should get her a kitten to help her feel better.
Dad: She cannot have a kitten.** 

**Point of fact: I got a kitten for my 15th Birthday. PERSISTENCE, people. It pays.

Growing up and giving up Christmas Lists is something of a tragedy. You lose your hopeful, unreasonable gift optimism. Now, when crafting my Amazon Wish List (the closest thing to a “List for Santa” my adult life offers), I pause to think about the feasibility of someone actually getting me that gift.

For example, I have not even once put this on my Amazon Wish List. And you know I want it.*** 

***In case you’re shopping for me, Stepney’s makes it. Click the image for a link!

Nowadays, there isn’t even one kitten on my Wish List. The magic is dead, people.

Also, You Should Know I Have Opinions About Santa

So, until I reached my full-and-independent-adult-life*, I didn’t really think the whole “Santa” thing was optional for Christian** families in America. My parents did it, and Santa is everywhere. There was clearly an undeniable math formula.

Is this not how magic works?

*Yesterday.

**Or agnostic. Or atheist. Or just capitalist-supportive.

But now that I’m older, I know different parents make different choices for various reasons. And all that’s just Jim Dandy and delightful. However, I*** am a huge fan of Santa. Even when I found out that Santa happened to be Mom and Dad staying up really late and eating all the cookies, it still floored me that there were two people who were willing and able to make the world a magical place for me.

***Totally childless, non-parent me.

So basically, by reading my blog, you’re running the risk of being exposed to lots of nostalgic, Santa-inclusive stories. You have been warned.

Also, Target has bananas again.

Just in case you were worried.
I know you were worried.