I spent years living in fear of Father Christmas. But that wasn’t as bad as a friend’s betrayal
Perhaps it was my unwavering belief in Santa that made me as scared of him as I was excited. I was terrified of him. I was also terrified of being terrified because I felt that if he knew I was terrified he wouldn’t like me and wouldn’t give me presents. The songs we sang at school wrapped me in a film of festive terror. The threat that this old man could see me when I was sleeping, knew when I was awake, and was assiduously tracking my behaviour was enough to keep me awake from Halloween to Boxing Day.
There was also the Christmas tradition that I learned about from films and TV, of hanging your stocking on the end of your bed for Santa to fill with presents. My stocking was left on the fireplace but that wasn’t enough to calm my fear that Santa would come into my room. Maybe he would forget and think I was one of the kids who did the bed knob thing and come to check?
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