December 2025 "Sweet Christmas memories" by Alexandra Covarrubias

Every kid has two types of parents for Christmas. Those who try to pretend there is Santa and those who would give it to them straight(Fun Fact: Did you know Santa was inspired by Saint Nicolas?). My parents were the first example. However, it did not take long before I found out on my own. I remember that once I stayed up to catch the supposed fat man in red and caught my parents wrapping presents instead (Now that I think back, that was a better surprise. I would not have liked to see a random stranger at night in my house.) But before my visual discovery took place, my brother had told me straight to my face that Santa was not real (GASP!). Don’t tell him I said this, but he cried about it later because apparently, I cried when he broke the news. I don’t remember how old I was. My mom was the one who actually recounted this. I find the story sweet, however, even if it is not present in my own memory. (Not in any condescending way, of course. :))

Another one of my Christmas memories was leaving cookies for “Santa,” and my favorite part is that my Santa was not picky, for it didn’t have to be the classic chocolate chip cookie that we left out for him. It could be anything from a saltine pan dulce to Oreos. Basically, the man would eat anything my siblings and I left for him on the plate. And who would this man be? (You might ask, at least I assume you do.) My tired but sweet dad, of course, was he. He would stay up late to keep my imagination alive and, of course, help my mom wrap presents. And yes, he would eat the cookies or bread on the plate, unless it was filled to the amount where it would make anyone nauseous (I was guilty of filling up the plate to the brim; after all, Santa was fat for a reason in my child-mind).

Moreover, when I was a kid, I took inspiration from movies and cartoons of kids jumping on their parents' bed on Christmas morning, which reasonably would only annoy the heck out of my parents. There were, of course, no grand stairs to make my way down and scream, “It’s Christmas morning! It’s Christmas morning!” But the long hallway always worked.

In addition, other memories tied to my Christmas mornings were the shoes placed underneath the tree, each of the shoes being one of my family members. This was how Santa knew whom each present would belong to (A weird logic, but to the kids' minds it wasn’t). And as Christmas day went on, so did the festivities, along with the tearing open of the presents. The house would smell of fresh tamales (UGH, that heavenly smell, especially when your mom makes you wait to eat nothing more). The Christmas music my mom likes would also always be playing, whether from her phone or the TV with a nice image of a fire display. Another part of Christmas day was also going to mass to visit Niño Dios, or baby Jesus, or a depiction of him when he was a baby surrounded by all the farm animals and hay, and of course, the three shepherds. This is what is called a nativity scene. (a way of commemorating the birth of Jesus), which was always fun. However, my favorite part of it all, especially now, is my family cherishing the closing of the year together.