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I still wish I hadn't peeked in the attic that year.It was Christmas 1972 and I was 10. It was the first year when I no longer believed in Santa Claus. Until that point, Christmas had been a magical time for me.A few weeks after Thanksgiving, I would join with my father to pick out our tree. He'd wear his rattiest coat and work his mastery on the helpless Christmas-tree guy to knock the price down two or three bucks.