I Still Believe In Santa Claus

• Posted by Rev. Michael Meakin, Abbot; The Order Of Saint Elizabeth I (OSEI) December 8, 2011 - #  - 978 views

  I was in the fifth grade, in Mrs. Clink’s class, when it was decided that the elementary school
  play would be “The Year Without A Santa Claus.” Auditions were held, and
  casting was done on the basis of student vote; I was “elected” to play Santa.
  The rehearsals were held during school hours, so no extemporaneous time was
  required. The only interruption to our rehearsal schedule was a field trip. There were two cousins in my class, Christie
  and Julie, whose mothers were part of a quint-sisterhood of which one might
  swear they were actually quintuplets. They were called “The North Girls” around
  town as their maiden name was North, and, regardless of their age differences,
  they really did look, walk, and talk quite alike. Christie and Julie sat on the
  opposite side of the bus from me, and one row forward, their mothers took up
  the seat across from them, which meant they were directly ahead of me. Talk on
  the bus inevitably turned to the play, the progression of rehearsals and, as my
  parents had taught music and drama, the “North Girls” were interested in why I
  had been so easily elected Santa and joked of whether or not it was just because
  of my parents. Several kids spoke up and said things like: “Oh, no; Mike’s
  Santa was just the best one,” “He does the Ho, Ho, Ho, so well,” “You’d swear
  if you closed your eyes that he really was Santa,” “It’s amazing how he can
  sound like an old man!” Well, the North Girls wanted to hear some lines so I
  obliged them, they laughed aloud, were duly impressed, and the majority of the
  bus erupted into applause when I was finished. As the din died down, there were
  comments like: “See, we told you!” “That’s amazing!” “How do you change your
  voice like that?” “That was very good!” I always liked attention, and I am sure
  I even blushed a little as I felt my face flush.
  
  Suddenly, talk all around me began about when others had found out there was no
  Santa Claus… “Last year,” someone piped, “In third grade,” shot another, “My
  parents told me the truth when I caught them stuffing the stockings…” A feeling
  of utter despair came over me, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water
  over me, as if my heart had been ripped out, as if I had suddenly died and was
  now listening to the many conversations going on around me in an “out of body
  experience.” My mouth and throat went completely dry as Christie and Julie
  laughed and talked with their own mothers about when they had been told that
  there was no Santa Claus… They turned toward me and asked me when I had found
  out. I gagged, I felt sick; I could feel tears at the back of my eyes yearning
  to well up on my bottom lashes, but that were being held back by some
  deep-seeded disgust and disbelief. “I guess I just found out now…” Was all I
  could muster. A chorus of laughter
  erupted, the biggest and heartiest laughs came from the mothers of my
  classmates sitting in front of me; their faces were distorted, their mouths
  stuck open as far as they could; they howled, their eyes became slits, wrinkles
  appeared all over their faces. My classmates passed it up and down the aisle:
  “Mike still believed in Santa!” “Mike didn’t know there was no Santa Claus!”
  When they caught their breath, the two North Girls saw my, now, very evident
  tears. “There, there,” and all that rot, “just talk to your Mom and Dad about it
  when you get home tonight.” I asked, “Why would they lie to me about it?” More
  laughter made me clam up quick.
  
  All the way home I stared silently out the window, milling over and over in my
  mind how my own parents could have been so cruel all these years; how could
  they have not told me when all my friends seemed to know; why did they set me
  up for such an embarrassment? I did not discuss it with them; in fact, I went
  straight to my room after dinner and cried myself to sleep. Because of this
  early bedtime, I woke very early and lie in bed; still feeling as if there were
  a knife in my heart. All of a sudden, a tremendous revelation came over me: all
  the things that I thought Santa brought me over the years were actually gifts
  from my parents… They had me prepare two Christmas lists; one for them which
  consisted of practical, affordable items; and one for Santa of fanciful,
  extravagant, and expensive items. I assumed this was because Santa’s Elves were
  somehow able to duplicate them, or recreate them by means of magical powers. I thought
  back over the items I had asked for from both my parents and from Santa Claus.
  About $100 on my list for my parents, and about $100 for the things I had
  written Santa about…
  
  In my family, if you were good each day through Advent, one of Santa’s Elves
  would ride a single, saddled reindeer to your window and leave you a piece of
  candy or a Christmas tree ornament, or both if you had been extra good! They
  would also pick up and deliver letters to and from Santa. I knew my parents
  alarm clocks would soon be ringing to begin the school day, so I wrote a brief
  note detailing the cruel jest at my expense on the field trip, and asking if
  the terrible thing I had heard were true… Then, I laid awake under the covers,
  waiting for the bells and the buzzers down the hall. Within a minute of my
  Father’s alarm, my door opened silently; a long, thin stream of light from the
  hallway got wider and wider, the floor boards creaked as he crossed the room, I
  heard a couple of small sounds at the windowsill, and the door shut… My letter
  to Santa was gone and, in its place, were a piece of candy and a tree ornament.
  I lay there, the same feelings washing
  over me as the day before but then I realized my parents were paying for all
  those toys and surprises themselves; that they were filling that stocking (the
  biggest one on the block) for me, that they were making and leaving all those
  cookies, cinnamon buns, nuts and nutcrackers, gingerbread houses, toys and
  games, notes from Santa, candies and ornaments… On Christmas morning, no matter
  how much we decorated the house ourselves during Advent, there were always
  twice as many decorations; twice as many presents, and a treasure trove of
  treats… My God, I wondered, what are they spending, and how can they do all
  that extra decorating and present wrapping in one night? Christmas morning was
  so magical; and, in our house, it began at the butt crack of dawn… How could
  they stay up all night and then cheerfully and gleefully work so hard to make
  my day so special and last so long? How could they afford to get every last
  thing I asked for? How could they sneak into my room and leave goodies every
  night for a month without my ever hearing or seeing them? What were they going
  to think of that letter I had written to Santa? What would they say to me? What
  would be their reply? What if Christmas, as I knew it, was over? I heard my
  Father go into the bathroom, heard him ripping the envelope open, then there
  was a long, deafening quiet. He came out of the bathroom, and knocked on my
  door… “Michael; it’s time to get up…” his usual school morning greeting.
  
  I went to school, completely dejected, sick to my stomach, and ready for the
  continued jeering of my classmates… When, at last, the long day was done, I did
  much the same thing as I had the day before; I went to my room and stayed there
  all evening until I finally fell asleep. When I awoke the next morning, both my
  windowsills were completely covered with candy, ornaments, toy soldiers, and
  one giant, ominous-looking envelope decorated with a ribbon and a bow. I opened
  it very slowly, preparing myself for the inevitable; alas, I thought, this was
  the last morning on which I would find such a lovely surprise… Tears were
  already streaming down my face, and my eyes were so inflamed and full that the
  paper and the writing on it were blurry to me. It read:
  
  “Dearest Michael, your classmates were very wrong. I do exist! I exist in the
  hearts and minds of children everywhere, I exist in the love that your parents
  have for you, I exist in the love God had for the world when He sent His Son as
  a gift into it, I exist in the joy of giving and receiving gifts, I exist in
  every ‘Merry Christmas’ spoken, I exist in the history of peoples all over the
  world, I exist in the heart of every person who believes in me. Though your
  parents must help my work along, though you are growing up, though you may see
  and hear the things of childhood slipping away…you must remember what Jesus
  said: ‘whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God as a little child does will
  not enter in…’ All our love, Mom & Dad, and Santa.”
  
  That Christmas, my eleventh on this earth, was the most magical I ever had and,
  at 41, with my Father dead 15 years, my Mother 2, and without a thing on my
  windowsill or stocking full of treats, I still believe; how could it be
  otherwise? There’s just too much proof…