I am reminded of lines I have heard constantly, for as long as I can remember: when I was a child, I was amazed how much smarter than my parents I was. Now that I'm older, I'm amazed at how much they've learned since then.
How strange to me, that a Sunday School teacher would be a Revealer! Of course, my own children have been raised with the figurative rather than the literal, because I am just that relentlessly honest. I love your stories!
Thanks, Jenny! What a great photograph of your boys...
I think it's more common these days to begin with the figurative, as you have--certainly my son and daughter-in-law did the same.
Actually, my brother Mike (that's us in the icon, on Christmas morning at about the age we were in the story) always told his son Matthew the truth about Santa, too.
I love it, but I need a new one! It's over a year old!
My mother thinks I am a big meanie, I think, and, of course, my sister has gone the literal route and we all get to live in fear of the day my niece's heart gets broken. *sigh*
The sadness probably came a bit from simple homesickness--I missed our Thornton Street house with its broad driveway just right for roller-skating, and my purple-painted bedroom.
Mike was homesick, too. And a little bewildered with all the changes.
I grew to love that church, and even played the organ for the family service by the time I was twelve. I loved going to the church on Saturday mornings to practice (by then we had moved into Great Bend), and felt so grown up and important!
I also fell in love (my first time) with the priest's son, Peter, who was OLD (14 to my 12) and had brown flecks in his green eyes.
It was SO romantic: he was an acolyte and I was in the choir. We were standing on the high front porch of the church waiting to go inside, and he and I happened to look into each other's eyes for the LONGEST TIME....(heavy sigh).
The fact is that Peter was the only boy in the history of Great Bend High School to get his head caught in the edge of the trampoline...he was very uncoordinated, I suppose!
I remember being in the little sacristy off the nave (a sacristy is where the communion things are kept and prepared, etc.) and I saw a note from Peter. I was so thrilled I remembered every word and even wrote it in my diary when I got home (and have remembered it all these long years). Here is his thrilling note, exactly as I saw it on the counter:
I'm afraid that we enlightened our children very early on about Father Christmas (as he is more usually called over here). Some people did think we were mean, but I couldn't bring myself to lie to them.
It's confusing for children to believe in Santa and presents and Jesus and prayers--I remember once praying to Jesus for a stick of Doublemint gum! (The reason I remember was that it was at that moment that I realized I was being ridiculous and shallow.)
My comment sounded as if I meant prayer is ridiculous, which I do not; I meant only that the temptation is to pray to Jesus as if to Santa! Which I did as a child sometimes.
Apparently, my husband was very confused about the whole Christmas thing when he was a child. He says that he got God, Jesus and Santa Claus hopelessly muddled, so when he was told that there was no such person as Santa Claus, he assumed that applied to Jesus and God too!
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My poor parents--when I think back at how uncertain they were, how hard they tried to be good and helpful, I realize they were very young.
My dad was so excited about his new business! And Mother was so proud of him.
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Of course, my own children have been raised with the figurative rather than the literal, because I am just that relentlessly honest.
I love your stories!
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I think it's more common these days to begin with the figurative, as you have--certainly my son and daughter-in-law did the same.
Actually, my brother Mike (that's us in the icon, on Christmas morning at about the age we were in the story) always told his son Matthew the truth about Santa, too.
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My mother thinks I am a big meanie, I think, and, of course, my sister has gone the literal route and we all get to live in fear of the day my niece's heart gets broken. *sigh*
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apparently i can only speak in fragments this morning on the internet much like in real life.
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Fragments are fine with me.
Fragments = Fine
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how are you this morning, besides beautifully reminiscent?
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It's misty and cool outside, and I am wearing my new Austrian crystal earrings to an afternoon meeting later today.
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Mike was homesick, too. And a little bewildered with all the changes.
I grew to love that church, and even played the organ for the family service by the time I was twelve. I loved going to the church on Saturday mornings to practice (by then we had moved into Great Bend), and felt so grown up and important!
I also fell in love (my first time) with the priest's son, Peter, who was OLD (14 to my 12) and had brown flecks in his green eyes.
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How fun! :^)
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The fact is that Peter was the only boy in the history of Great Bend High School to get his head caught in the edge of the trampoline...he was very uncoordinated, I suppose!
I remember being in the little sacristy off the nave (a sacristy is where the communion things are kept and prepared, etc.) and I saw a note from Peter. I was so thrilled I remembered every word and even wrote it in my diary when I got home (and have remembered it all these long years). Here is his thrilling note, exactly as I saw it on the counter:
"Dear Dad,
I am walking home.
Love, Pete."
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I'm afraid that we enlightened our children very early on about Father Christmas (as he is more usually called over here). Some people did think we were mean, but I couldn't bring myself to lie to them.
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It's confusing for children to believe in Santa and presents and Jesus and prayers--I remember once praying to Jesus for a stick of Doublemint gum! (The reason I remember was that it was at that moment that I realized I was being ridiculous and shallow.)
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