Yes, My Daughter, There is a Santa Claus

I love me some Christmas! Bug has been so spirited this year it is impossible not to live vicariously through her. We started the season off by going through our closets and the toys to donate our things to boys and girls and mommies and daddies who don't have as much as we do. It's not easy to convince a three-year old that two of her dolls should go to someone else, but she definitely caught on. She has actually thrown it my face a time or two: "I give my toy to boys and girls don't have toys cause I don't want to pick it up," or "Mom, if you don't wear that shirt why don't you give it to mommies that don't have shirts." After donations she picked the gifts to give to her friends and cousins. We talked about how happy they will be to open it up. She can tell you that she likes to give because it makes her people super happy. She loved bundling up and walking hot chocolate jars, cookie bags, and homemade dog treats to the neighbors and singing "Merry Christmas!" in that special way only a young child can. And she asks often about Santa and whether he knows she is being good or if he can see her petting the cat nicely.

I have always been infectious with holiday spirit. As a kid, I was the one that couldn't contain my anticipation for Christmas morning. I would turn up the Mannheim Steamroller CD until the blaring trumpets shook the shelves (still do.) Even at the age of 15, I was up at 5:30am surveying the bounty ablaze in the pink, green, gold glow from the tree lights. My parents made a rule that we were not allowed to disturb them until 6, and only if our grubby paws were cradling hot cups of coffee or tea or cocoa. I begged my baby sister to say she still “believed” until she was about ten, cruelly suggesting that Santa would never come again if she stopped believing because she was the youngest. 

My mom and I were chatting the other day about the one Christmas morning that I slept until 8am and she knew for sure I was deathly ill. True be told, I had actually cried myself to sleep that night.  I was eight-years old and finally played opossum well enough to trick my mom into thinking I was asleep. I crawled out of bed, tiptoed down the hall, and witnessed the great con of children. I was devastated. My heart was broken. I am shocked I didn’t wake my sister with how loud I was sobbing.

Now integrity is a big deal in our house. Through the potty training woes with Bug, the most important issue for me is always whether she is telling the truth about her business. Having an accident is secondary to telling me a lie and that pretty much goes for everything else in this house. This fact coupled with my devastation from Christmas of ’88 makes me seriously contemplate the role Santa plays in our holiday traditions. Muffin thinks I am making too big a deal of it and that it would be cruel to take the magic of Santa away from our children. I agree that there is a magic about this particular holiday that wouldn’t be the same without the blind belief in St. Nick. But I worry about being confronted with the question one day about whether I have been lying to them all these years. So, I plan to use history.

Saint Nicholas was born in the third century to wealthy parents and raised a devout Christian. His parents died when he was young, and he obeyed the word of Christ by giving his wealth to the poor and the sick. He eventually became a Bishop known for his generosity to the needy and to children. He was imprisoned by Romans for his faith and after his release attended the Council of Nicaea. He died December 6, 343, and that day became known as St. Nicholas’ Day throughout Europe to keep the stories of his goodness and generosity alive. Simple gift giving on December 6^th is supposed to preserve the focus of Christmas Day on the birth of Christ.

1667 years later, we still remember Saint Nicholas as a generous and kind man whose desire to live like Christ strengthened his community and spread compassion throughout the world. He was a real person and his mission of honor through giving continues nearly two millennia later through each of us. That is magical. That is awesome. That is as real as any love on this Earth. So when my daughters ask about Santa, I will hug them close and confidently tell them that his magic is real enough to change the world, as is any heart focused with kindness, integrity and pure vision.