I believe in Santa Claus. Not the magical, mythical man
himself (of course), but in the spirit of St. Nicholas. After I tell this
story, I think you will believe in him as well. This story is the reason I have
never doubted Santa’s existence; it is the very essence of that great
editorial, “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.” Seeing as the Holiday
Season is upon us, it seems timely to tell this tale.
It was Christmas Eve 1980, and I was 3 ¾ years old. It was
my first Christmas after my parents’ divorce and I was terrified! I was not
terrified of anything directly related to the divorce; I was terrified that
Santa wouldn’t be bringing presents to my Mother’s new place. No matter how
many times my Mother assured me he would come, I didn’t believe her.
“Will he leave the
stuff at Dad’s or notice I’m gone and just go away?”
“Angie, Santa will bring the presents here. Santa is magic.”
“But, Mom, you don’t even have a chimney. He will leave it
at Dad’s”
“Angie, for the last time, Santa is magic. He doesn’t need a
chimney.”
I pestered my poor Mom all day; then, just when my panic was
at its highest she informed me we were going to Midnight Mass that year. She
was just being practical. My Dad was picking us up early to spend Christmas
Day at his house, if we didn’t go to
Midnight Mass we’d miss church altogether. This was not an option for my
religious Mother.
“Mom, Santa won’t leave me presents if I’m not asleep.”
“Santa is not going to punish you for going to Church. He
only wants you asleep so you won’t see him. It is OK for you to go to Church.
Santa will still come.”
Even now, I can feel the panic. Even now, I remember how
certain I was of my Mother’s miscalculations. As we all left for Church at
11:15, I glanced once more at my empty stocking. I knew it would still be empty
when we got home. Everyone in the house went to Church that night; my Mom, my
two older sisters, and me. The house was empty and quiet as a tomb when we left
for services.
I will never forget the joy and wonder when we got home. My
stocking was overflowing and everything on my Christmas list was under the
tree. My Mom was right; Santa had found me, even in a new place. Santa didn’t
even care that I was awake. I can still remember the relief and joy I felt that
night; I was not even mad my Mother made me wait til morning to play with my
new things. Since I was so overjoyed, I just floated to my bedroom.
This is the story that kept me believing in Santa long after
my friends had stopped. It never occurred to me as a kid that it could have been
my Dad; It never occurred to me that he would drive 30 miles each way in the
middle of the night. It never occurred to me that he would put that much effort
to making Santa real for his youngest child. That Christmas I was the only one
of my parent’s five kids who still believed in Santa and my Dad was determined
to make sure I did not stop believing. In truth, I do not really think it was
my Dad. It may have been my Father’s body, but it was Santa’s spirit.
My Father succeeded in convincing me of Santa’s reality.
Even after I ‘knew’ the truth, I still believed in Santa. My Father never
stopped believing in Santa either. Right up until the year my Dad died, Santa
filled my stocking and put presents under the tree. If I ever thanked Dad for a
“Santa” gift, he would reply, “What are you thanking me for?” I must have had
some naughty years after my Dad passed away when I was 17, because Santa didn’t
come again until after my son was born; however, I know that he will keep
coming well into my son’s adulthood. It may appear to be me filling his
stocking, but I know it is Santa.
Santa is real. Santa is the Christmas spirit that brought my
Dad to his ex-wife’s door at Midnight on Christmas Eve. Santa is the joy my
Father took in bringing a smile to his daughter’s face; a smile he would never
see himself. Santa is the reason I am never tired after staying up til 2 am to
fulfill my son’s wishes; I am not the one who is awake…It is Santa. If you do
not believe in Santa after hearing this story, I would expect you to get a lump
of coal in your stocking this year.
Truly beautiful... Im one who can never remember believing Santa was a person. I had a pretty good lie detector as a kid (maybe better then, than now) and by the time I had the character of Santa explained to me I had already cataloged the tone adults used in talking about him as one reserved for things they wanted you to accept, rather than things they really knew to be so.. But I always loved him for the way he functioned in our family.. He was like the imaginary friend who's existence they humored for my sake, and i humored for theirs. My parents both cared alot and tried hard, but very little of my childhood ended up being about me.. Most of it was dominated by their struggles with themselves, with each other, and with the larger world around them. Santa was projection of the idea that for a little while things could be entirely about me, and not about them.. And that was wonderful even if it took a little, jolly "white lie" to get us there.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. My (Jewish) kids have always known that Santa (the mythical) doesn't exist but that the holiday spirit of being giving and caring about others is available every day- if you want to share in it. (and we encourage that) My middle son stopped a playground argument last year between two school friends (arguing over whether Santa did/did not exist) by saying "He exists if you want to believe and then he is real for you- and if you do not believe - than that is what's real for you. Either way- you shouldn't argue- you should respect your friends!" Leave it to the Jewish boy to have the Christmas spirit!
ReplyDelete