Last week I railed against the scrooges who want to turn
Christmas into
”
Let’sNotOffendAnyone-mas
”
by removing the trappings of the holiday from public view.
Last week I railed against the scrooges who want to turn Christmas into “Let’sNotOffendAnyone-mas” by removing the trappings of the holiday from public view.
But today, on the eve of the eve of Christmas Eve, it is a time to enjoy the positive spirit of the holiday and remember the innocence of childhood beliefs.
Like many children their age, my sons are faced with growing uncertainty of the presence of mythic figures like Santa Claus. Ten- and 12-year-old boys start to make fun of each other if they find out someone in their clique still believes in jolly old St. Nick.
They’re too old for Easter egg hunts; the Tooth Fairy had better kick down some cash, but he or she is no longer real in their minds.
They cast a wary eye at their parents when told to write what they want on a list for Santa, instead of pointing it out as they stroll through a store.
As we age, our faith gets tested. When once we stared wide-eyed at the Santa in the mall, believing his was the real Claus, we now feel for the guy earning minimum wage to deal with greedy kids – many of whom are scared of this man asking them to sit on his lap.
The Christmas myth is shattered for some kids when they discover their parents putting toys under the tree on behalf of Santa. Others recognize their parents’ writing on a note forged in Santa’s name (the guy is busy, after all.) Older siblings like to break it to their little brother or sister that Santa is a phony. It is up to parents to help kids keep the faith.
In my house, Santa remained real throughout my childhood because not acknowledging his existence could shatter the magic. And what purpose would that serve?
Sure, I came to realize that my parents helped out Santa. Maybe my dad occasionally bit the cookie and drank the milk we had left out, but I knew the real Santa couldn’t possibly eat that much dairy and sugar in one night.
When I was 5, I swore I heard sleigh bells on the roof of our home. When I was 10, I swore I saw boot prints near the fireplace. Even though I’m 37, I feel guilty if I get to bed after midnight on Christmas Eve because I was told Santa won’t come to your house until you’re asleep.
Regardless of their level of belief, no one in my house is allowed to go into the living room on Christmas morning until the entire family is awake. Everyone should see what Santa left out at the same time.
It’s a magical time of the year; one that requires some mix of faith or belief or innocence. We don’t have to believe in a literal Santa Claus to believe in the jolly old elf.
Like Francis P. Church wrote to Virginia O’Hanlon in the famous “Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus” editorial published 109 years ago in The New York Sun, “how dreary the world be the world if there were no Santa Claus!”
Addressing the doubters, Church wrote, “You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.”
I don’t expect to see Santa Claus this year, but I don’t need to. His presence will be felt in the smiles on Christmas morning, the jokes shared at Christmas dinner, and the memories shared forever.
Merry Christmas!
Adam Breen teaches journalism and yearbook at San Benito High School. He is former editor of The Free Lance.
