I Still Believe
What sort of rose-colored glasses must I wear to still believe in Santa at the age of 40? Especially as a parent, who must recreate magic on a yearly basis? Is there room left in the world to believe in magic? It seems silly that my faith in Santa Claus is unwavering in these times. But, it is.
In an extremely limited self-publication that was literally purchased by one person, I spoke of my experience in figuring out whether Santa was real. I was about 11, and I performed the tried-and-true plot: for Santa to prove he was real by bringing me the gift I asked for. I did not get that present, whatever it was, but I got exactly what I needed. I walked out, half-asleep, to get some water. He was there. You could say that it was a dream, but it was as real to me as anything I have ever experienced. His glow was the soft pink of an illuminated blow-mold Santa, and his scent was Snickerdoodles.
My mom made cookies every year, and though my favorite was Snickerdoodles, she never made them because she said they were too hard and no one else liked them. My eleventh year was no different. That year, my best friend moved to another state. That year, I had no friends at my new middle school. That year, my mom’s boyfriend did the unthinkable to me. It was a terrible year. I needed the kindness of Santa more than ever. I did not get a toy, I got what a sad, hurt, lonely child needs: a hug.
I tell my kids that Santa doesn’t bring you what Nick Jr. tells you that you want. Santa is not a Capitalist, nor a vending machine. You cannot put in a letter, and toys pop out. My kids believe in Santa, and every year I tell them of how I met him. While I do give presents “from Santa,” I tell them that Santa only brings what you really need. They think they that they really need a Mario Lego Set because they don’t know true needs — don’t mistake, that’s a point of pride. I hope they never need Santa deep within their soul, as I had.
Santa Claus said to me that he loved me, and that’s really everything I needed. He said that he only came for children who really needed him, and I obviously did. As I faced some of the hardest times of my young life, he gave me one hug and wordlessly spoke to the most desperate desires of my heart. At this age, I don’t remember any toy I’ve ever gotten, or any mall Santa, but I remember every moment of that brief meeting where I got exactly what I needed that year.
Yes, I understand that I’m imaginative. As a writer, it is so often said that I use lies to tell the truth. I’ve learned to embellish. In this case, more than any other, I’m not embellishing at all. This is my reality, my guiding principle: there is goodness in the world, whether seen or seen, captured, or intuited. If you haven’t believed in a long time, I don’t cast judgment. It becomes harder every day to believe in the inherent goodness of others. But I challenge you: try to believe, for just a moment, in the kindness of Santa. Don’t do it for yourself, but for the kids that suffer. They need him so badly; you must set aside doubt and believe for them. He might not have gotten you that toy you felt you really needed once. He is not the Coca-Cola Capitalist you have seen in pictures with an army of unwaged workers at his beck and call, but he exists. We do not need proof and logic, just faith that there is still hope. He has so many sad, lonely, and hurt children to visit this year, as our world continues to be in turmoil. Just ask yourself: Couldn’t we all use a little more belief in goodness?
Happy Holidays.
