So, there’s one thing that Santa and I have in common–no, it isn’t our jolly bellies; there are some people in the world who believe in Santa, and there are some people who do not. I, too, have this problem, Kris. However, you do not exist. But, I am very much alive. (Is it too late for a spoiler alert? Santa isn’t real, kids. Sorry).
I’m the youngest of three kids and the only girl. I guess some might say I was a pretty shy child–though my memory may differ from my family’s. I may have been unmercifully bossy or mildly hammy. Anyway, whenever my brothers had friends over, I would see to it that I was, well, not seen. They trained me well–fear really does work, for those of you wondering.
I would stay in my bedroom while they had their buddies over to “play.”
I guess I shouldn’t use “play” because they were in high school by this time and that suggests something childish, like playing with toys . . . or some other silly figurines that they may or may not include tiny parts that needed to be artfully painted. But what do I know? I was stuck in my room all this time.
My brothers’ friends had no idea a third child existed. They never knew my brothers had a younger sister. I was so good at sneaking around. Because, let’s face it, that’s what I had to do. (Why I had to sneak around? It makes no sense to me in hindsight . . . but I did).
A girl has got to eat, you know? I get hungry too. And, in my tiny Harry Potter closet-for-a-bedroom there was no room to stash snacks. So, once in a while, if I got hungry or thirsty, I would have to journey to the kitchen.
But I would do it in such a way that I tried not to be seen or heard. Much like the robust man in red who comes around once a year traipsing across your roof and stuffing himself down your chimney.
[A/N: I think I must have been deathly afraid of people or something. I really don’t know why I was such a weirdo].
I would crack my door open to get a quick scan of the area–just to make sure the halls were all clear–void of any human life. If I ever saw the hint of a shoulder, or a tip of hair, I would retreat and book it back to my bedroom before I was seen. Like a leprechaun, I was. Or a mole.
Not until I was well into high school–after being told that they never thought I was real–did I realize this was strange behavior. I seriously didn’t think there was anything wrong with me sneaking around my own home while other people were over.
Unlike Ol’ Saint Nick, I did not come bearing gifts or leaving presents in my wake. I did leave crumbs and empty plates, though.
Actually, now that I think about it, I was kind of the best little sibling. Ever. I was entirely non-existent.
Happy Christmas Eve!