When Betsy and I were about seven, our dad walked into the kitchen while we were enjoying buckwheat pancakes one summer morning and yelled, “Guess what? There’s no Santa! And there’s no Jesus!”
The magic ended right there.
When Betsy and I were about seven, our dad walked into the kitchen while we were enjoying buckwheat pancakes one summer morning and yelled, “Guess what? There’s no Santa! And there’s no Jesus!”
The magic ended right there.