Why This Gal Still Believes in Santa
My husband plays Santa every year at a family Christmas function. And while he makes an outstanding Santa, there comes a time when each child begins to suspect that the man behind the beard is more likely to be Uncle Gino than Santa himself. I’ve witnessed this happen over the last 10 years and the way each child approaches this suspicion is as unique as the children are each individual. I’ve seen it happen at different ages depending on the child. Some of them voice their suspicion to me secretly hoping I will totally deny it and thereby renew their belief in Santa for yet another year: “Bella said that Santa isn’t real. But I know he is right? I mean who else could fit down our chimney and not get burnt?” Some of them still want to believe in Santa but feel the pressure all around them to dismiss the idea that is just not “cool” any more: ” I know Uncle Gino is Santa; I’ve always known. I mean there is no Santa. But don’t worry, I won’t tell the babies.” Some of them just hear their older cousins whisper some nonsense and are mimicking what they have heard, all the while disbelieving that it could ever be so: ” I heard Emma say that Santa isn’t real?! She said her house doesn’t even have a chimney. I told her, DUH! Santa doesn’t need a chimney, he’s MAGIC.” Others want me to know that they know and thereby make sure I know that they know what they know. Ya know? “You know I know right?” < insert exaggerated, almost freakish like wink.>
What I do KNOW is that I still believe in Santa and I am always quite proud to tell them this. When I do, the reactions are, once again as unique as the child. Some gasp and make faces I have never seen before (and might just prefer to never see again), others hit me and make faces I am all to0 familiar with, and then the special few match the twinkle in my eye with that of their own.
OK, I know what you are thinking, this chick clearly sits around watching Hallmark movies all day and the egg nog has gone to her head. Well yes, I do as often as I can and it certainly has but that is not the point. I am 40 something years old and I still believe in Santa, I mean the fat guy with the big red suit, the itchy beard, and the ho ho ho. All of it. I tell the kids this and a common response is something like: “Its OK, I really do know, my mom told me.” to which I respond “She told you what? because I’m not kidding I still believe in Santa. Always will. Always have.” At this point those without the twinkle tend to roll their eyes and walk away. The ones that actually stick around to listen to their poor odd, ol’ aunt hear something like this:
I believe in Santa because I believe in Christmas. I believe in the glory of the stars and the peace of the season’s sky. I believe in something greater than us because we all share that same sky. I believe in the sensation of warmth I get when I see a Christmas movie, hear a beloved Carol, or feel that undeniable sense of wonder and anticipation that only the Christmas season can deliver. I believe that grumpy men wear itchy suits for one fine day and it makes them happy. I believe in the spirit of giving and that even in this crazy, messed up world we live in, good will always prevail. I believe in Santa with every random act of kindness and all goodwill toward fellow man. I believe in Santa because I see him in my husband’s eyes. I believe in Santa because I feel him in the warmth of my fondest holiday memories. I believe in Santa because I believe in the beauty of believing in things we cannot always see. I believe in miracles every time I look at my son; I believe in magic when he smiles. I believe in Santa because I just don’t want to live in a world where he doesn’t exist.