Last year about this time, I saw a post on the political forum I help moderate, from a woman that calls herself Superchick. Superchick was all down about something and was considering telling her little girl that there was no Santa Claus. I saw her comment and wanted so much for her not to spoil it for her daughter so I wrote her this.
Superchick – “I am actually thinking about telling my daughter there is no such thing as Santa.”
BTExpress - Please don't tell your daughter that you believe there is no Santa. Let me tell you a story.
I stopped believing in Santa on Christmas Eve when I was 9 years. My big brother used to tease me non-stop pretty much my entire life. He would stand up for me when bigger kids picked on me, so I knew he loved me, but he just kept at me all the time. The years I turned nine, Rod kept telling me how Santa Claus didn’t exist and that our mom and dad were really the ones that gave us presents. He kept it up but I wouldn’t believe him.
Sometime during the night on Christmas Eve, my brother woke me up and cracked open the door of our bedroom to show me my parents carrying the Christmas presents in from outside. I was devastated and ran back to bed and cried and cried. He just laughed. That was about the saddest moment of my life up to that point. My mother and father heard the noise and came into our room to find out what was wrong. I told them what had happened and what I saw. My mom told me that they were just helping Santa carrying the presents, but I didn't believe her and just cried. They did their best to calm me down but finally decided to let us open our presents and see if that would do it. They woke up my little sister too, but before they did, my father threatened my big brother with the death if he even hinted to my little sister at what happened. She was five at the time.
I don't really remember much else about that Christmas or what I got that year, I just remember the feeling when I found out there was no Santa. I’ve pretty much forgotten that story until I read your post just now. BTW, that was the beginning of us opening our gifts on Christmas Eve every year after that
Then when I was about 15 or 16, my belief in the jolly old man came back once again. It was sometime during early December when I first saw my father come down from upstairs dressed up in a Santa Claus costume. I thought he looked kind of silly, as most know-it-all 16-year-olds do and laughed a little at the way he looked in that silly costume. But he really did look just like I would have pictured Santa Claus to look. He had white hair and was about the same size as Santa too.
My stepmother told me that a few years earlier, my father started going around to the neighbor’s houses ringing some sleigh bells they had and yelling “Ho, Ho, Ho!” The little kids, and there were a lot of them in the neighborhood, actually thought they heard Santa. He got such a kick out of doing it, that one year he bought a cheap costume and would go around visiting the kids and handing out candy canes. Then that grew into visiting a lot of other places each year so bought the most realistic Santa costume he could afford and even grew a beard for the season. Since he had white hair, it looked great.
That first night I saw him, he was on his way to the nursing home my stepmother worked at to visit people that lived there. My stepmother said it cheered everyone up so much. He would walk from room to room ringing these sleigh bells so they knew he was coming. They always got so excited, just like little kids my stepmother said. Some days he would take off from work (without pay no less) and play Santa at a couple of neighborhood elementary schools and go around to the classes handing out candy canes.
But his biggest thrill was always the nights he visited the children. One night my stepmother and “Santa” go out to visit the kids of their friends. They pull up a couple of doors down from this house and Santa gets out, my stepmom stays in the car. He walks up to the house, rings the sleigh bells and yells out his best “Ho, ho, ho”. The people come to the door and let him in. He stayed for a little while and gets back in the car. My stepmother asks him if he knew those people? Why he asked? She tells him because he went to the wrong house; their friends lived a little farther down the block? He cracks up and tells her he thought something was strange because he didn’t recognize anyone, but said everyone was so happy to see him so he stayed. He told her the kids were thrilled and screamed with excitement when he came in and the adults in the house even got excited, so he did his usual thing. They both laughed as they drove away thinking how strange it must have seemed to have Santa show up at their door. I’ll bet you’ll never convince those folks in that house there is no Santa.
Every year my father would go into his bedroom and next thing you know, out came Santa Claus. Santa would make the rounds to the usual places and each year there would be new kids to see. Every night during the Christmas season after Santa finish his rounds, he’d come back to our house and go into my parent’s bedroom. Then a few minutes later, my father would come out. This went on every year, even after he moved to Florida.
So Superchick, please don’t tell your daughter there is no Santa, because there really is a Santa. He lived in the heart of my father during those years and in the hearts of so many more. The generosity and kindness we feel during the holiday season represent him. Just like it says in the old editorial by Francis P. Church…
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.”
Merry Christmas
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