Confession Wednesday: The Christmas That I Realized I'm Spoiled

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Did you once forget to stuff the turkey?

Did you mix up names in the family gift exchange and buy a present for the wrong relative?

Well, now's the time to confess!

It's Confession Wednesday again, and this week we're talking about Christmas Confessions. It can be ANYTHING under the sun. You know you've got a confession in there somewhere...Let's hear it.

It was Christmas of 1983. At least, I'm pretty sure. I was 6, anyway.

I really wanted a bike for Christmas. Desperately. A big girl bike. A two-wheeler.

My mom took Marc and me to see Santa.

Yes, we are a Santa family. I know everyone has different feelings about the jolly old elf, but we believe. It's all in good fun.

(It's silly, but that was one of the very few things that made me feel a little bit okay about Philip breaking up with me. He was adamant that his future kids weren't going to believe in Santa and I was determined that mine would.)

While we believed in Santa and we believed that he could make our Christmas dreams come true, my mom laid down one ground rule. We were only allowed to ask for a maximum of three things.

(I'm sure it was so that she could get on with the shopping and get out of the mall as soon as possible we would learn that Christmas wasn't just about getting everything we wanted.)

(Even though we usually did.)

I was so excited to see Santa Claus that year. There were a lot of things I wanted, but I very obediently whittled my list down to just three things. I can't remember now what I asked for, but I know that I did NOT ask for a bicycle.

In all my anticipation, I totally forgot.

And I didn't realize it right away, either. It took a day or two before it clicked that I had not asked Santa for a bike.

Because I had already seen Santa and asked for my three things, and because it was so close to Christmas by this point, I didn't get to write him and ask for the bike either. I was just plain out of luck.

For two or three weeks before Christmas, I drove my mother crazy with all the talk about how I had forgotten. I couldn't believe it. It was the one thing I wanted more than anything. I didn't even know how to ride a bike yet. But Amanda up the street had one, and so did Christine. I wanted to ride bikes with them in the cul-de-sac. And I had missed my chance.

Christmas morning came and, true to tradition, Marc and I went and gathered the stockings and then wandered into our parents' bedroom, jumping on the bed to wake them up. We opened the goodies in our stockings and then managed to convince our parents to get out of bed.

I knew there would be no bicycle in the living room, and when I saw the dozens of brightly wrapped packages, it took less than a second to see the He-Man bike with the training wheels Santa had delivered to my little brother. And it took even less time to process that there wasn't one for me.

I did my best to hide my disappointment. I had it coming, after all. How could Santa know to bring me something I hadn't asked for?

My dad ordered me to go to the garage and get a giant garbage bag for the wrapping paper that would soon be shredded as it was torn from boxes.

I folded my arms and said no.

Yeah. I was a total brat that morning. And, even at the age of 6, I knew how ridiculous I was acting.

My dad told me again and again I refused.

My dad told me if I didn't go out and get a garbage bag, I wouldn't get to open any presents.

Reluctantly, I opened the door to the garage.

(Which happened to be right next to the front door, and both doors happened to be in the very room we were already in. I didn't even have to go anywhere.)

I opened the door and stared.

I couldn't believe it. I didn't really know what to do, so I grabbed a plastic bag and closed the door.

"What's out there?" my dad asked.

"A Strawberry Shortcake bike," I said.

I was dumbfounded and confused. Why would Santa bring me a bike? I hadn't asked for it. How could he have known? And why would I get one now when I had been a brat all morning. I definitely didn't deserve it.

My parents got a good laugh about my reaction and told me to go out there and check it out, which, of course, I did.

I was excited and grateful and couldn't wait to learn how to ride it.

But deep down, I knew I didn't deserve it.

And I think that was the first time I questioned Santa Claus.

Now it's your turn! You know the deal. Grab the button up above and link up your Christmas Confession down below!