Personal Narrative: Santa Claus

It was three weeks before Christmas when my little sister Emily barged into my room. I was busy preparing gifts for the holidays and also was listening to music. I took an earbud out to listen to what she had to say, but I still was not facing her. She then asked if Santa was real. In my busy state of mind, I nonchalantly said yes and urged her out of my room so I could finish what I was doing. At the time, I did not think much about my response. A few days later, my family were all gathered around for lunch when Emily began questioning me about Santa Claus. She appeared so enthusiastic and happy for Christmas that I did not want to ruin it for her. So I started telling her about The North Pole and the flying reindeers and anything associated with Santa. Deep down, I chastised myself for tricking her, but I thought a little white lie will not hurt

Since I already told Emily all about that mythical creature, there is no way we could crush her dreams and happiness. So we began concocting a plan. I was in charge of picking the presents and wrapping them, while they took care of the bill. I definitely did not mind that. About five days later, my mom and I went shopping for the Christmas presents. Fortunately, picking out the presents were pretty easy. Emily was a typical girl: she loved Barbie dolls, dress up toys, and pretty much anything pink and glittery. Also, I picked up wrapping paper that I described to her is what Santa uses so she would not suspect a thing. Then we arrived home, and I began working on my masterpiece. As I am cutting the wrapping paper, I hear footsteps from the stairs. I quickly threw everything in my closet and shut it tightly. Good thing I did because it was Emily. She came down to announce that dinner was ready. While she was talking, my heart was pumping so loud I thought she could hear the palpations. I then made a promise to never do this again. It is too much