Is this Normal (Part 3 of Many...The Christmas Edition)

I never believed in Santa Claus. Our family tradition, one I loved really made believing in Santa Claus, structurally impossible. Our tradition was simple. At 9pm on Christmas Eve. My mother, her 8 brothers and sisters (the ones that live in the US), all my cousins, and other assorted Ecuadorian friends and well wishers would gather together and ring in Christmas Day by eating excessive amounts of pork and then sharing gifts at around 12:05am on Christmas Day. No room for Santa Claus there. Also, I went to catholic school and the Sister Mildreds of the world would not allow us to turn the birth of our lord and savior into such a pagan and commercial holiday by encouraging us to write Santa Claus a letter.

So really, I never minded. Except for one year my godmother joined us for Christmas. I was about ten and her son, my cousin was about 8, more importantly her little daughter was 3 and very much still believed in Santa Claus. This was an easy trick for them to pull off because they always lived far away from the family and were not usually part of the Christmas festivities, or on the off chance they were, it was very easy to convince little Tina that Santa was in fact at all our respective houses leaving us our appropriate gifts. As the oldest cousin in sight and a petulant little snot, I took umbrage with having to maintain a facade for the benefits of others. Who was out there, making up elaborate stories for my benefit? Who was getting creative and making sure we always had a gift from Santa, I even rationalized it, maybe it was too late for me, I was bordering on being a Christmas cynic, but what about the Lil Bumpasaurus/Pacey Witter, he was 5.

That's right. YEAH! Who's got Pacey's back?

What? Would it kill my parents to contrive a scenario where they run back in the house on Christmas eve break out a stash of secret gifts and maybe have my dad eat some Christmas cookies we might leave out for Santa. He was eating them all anyway, would it kill him NOT to do it in our faces, joking and spilling crumbs all over his sweater?

That was it, I'd had enough. It was Christmas Eve, and I went up to my mother and pled my case. Next year, I would do my part. I would write a letter to Santa, I would also promise to not throw lil Bump in the trash for the next year. To the contrary, maybe I'd even help him compose his own letter to Santa. Then with a few knowing winks and nods my parents would step up and get us an extra gift, from Santa, and maybe we could save the pagan joy of Santa for Baby Bump. Meybe we'd save him right then and there. It was at this critical juncture that we could have set him on the path to well adjusted adulthood. Plus, I would have an extra gift. Everyone wins!

Of course, this is my mother we're dealing with so everything went wrong, horribly wrong. The next year, the day after Thanksgiving my mom takes us to Toys-R-Us and just lets us run around. We weren't so much there to buy anything (because we didn't) we were just there to give my mom an impression of what we wanted. We left empty handed, but me, ever observant, noticed how much my mom paid attention to everything we showed here, as in she paid attention at all, which is not what she typically did normally. Normally, she'd just plead with us to leave her alone and use her hands to construct a defensive posture. This time there were no hands up, the boxing clinic was closed. We got home and set to write our Santa letters which my mother gladly collected.

A few days later, I noticed she walked in with a bag from Toys-R-Us, not only that but I noticed some GI Joe stuff in the bag. The plan was coming together, maybe everything would work out! Bump was oblivious, he probably in another room, peeing himself. I dunno, he falls out of this memory pretty quick.

Under the tree on December 5th (or thereabouts) I took stock of the gifts. There were gifts for me, gifts for bump, gifts for my cousin Jay and cousin Vic and any number of gifts for other people. There were also extra gifts for me and bump and they were unsigned.

On Christmas Eve, as we packed the gifts, I asked my mother what do with the gifts we had received from someone who could not be bothered to sign their own name. She told me to leave them home. We could deal with them later.

That night I saw my cousin Jay open his gift from us, and it was item #3 on my freaking wishlist. The hell? Also, I got socks and some underwear from my parents. I had no idea what to do....But I didn't internalize it, till the next day when I saw my cousin Vic open his Christmas gift and it was item #1 on MY WISHLIST! What is this lady doing? HOLY CRAP! I was besides myself.

When we got home that Christmas night my mother turns to me and Bump and disingenuously says "Wow, Santa must have come by...look at these gifts he left you?"

The hell? Even Bump didn't buy this line. "Mommy that gift was there tomorrow, Santa didn't bring it, daddy put it here last month I saw". (Bump was still getting past and future tense confused)

I don't know what the hell point she was trying to prove, but she proved it, that might be why my favorite Christmas memory is about giving rather than receiving gifts.

Is that normal?