I was 8. As we were trying to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, my 12-year-old uncle asked me if I wanted to see Santa Claus. I said sure. So we crawled out of the bedroom to the second-floor hallway that overlooked the foyer down below. I saw my parents and grandparents laughing and carrying presents into the living room where the tree was.
I briefly cried at the loss of innocence, but then quickly got over it.