Okay, it's true - I believe in Santa Claus
A matter of believing is seeing
Dear readers - Since it’s Christmas this week, I’m making my Monday’s paid subscriber story available to all. I hope you enjoy and share it with others. Happy Holidays. ~JRC
Approx. 1500 words; six minutes read time
I have the fondest memory of an early Christmas; I couldn't have been more than four. My not-much-older brother woke me up sometime after we went to bed. "Santa's been here," he whispered. "Quick, come, and look."
I jumped from bed, and we went into our living room together. It was dark except for the lit Christmas tree. Under it, I could see many new presents, including two gleaming toy tractors. One for my brother and one for me. They were identical, blue painted metal, modeled after those huge farm machines with dual rear tires.
Santa had been to our home!
At that age, I wasn't asking for specifics from Santa Claus. Whatever he brought was perfect. Santa must have somehow known I'd like that tractor. And he was correct - I loved it. I remember playing with it for years after.
As I got older, Santa still came. And each year, the magic was as real as the last. But I started to make requests. Specific requests.
When I was about six, I asked for custom bat wings for Christmas. Not merely a costume - I wanted wings I could use to fly. I'm not sure where the idea came from, but I was obsessed with it. In my letter to The North Pole, I even drew a schematic for the elves to follow.
I was so excited for that Christmas morning; it was going to be the best Christmas ever. My parents had warned me not to get my hopes too high, but I persisted. I knew Santa could make the wings.
Leading up to Christmas, I shared the bat wings idea with anyone who would listen. Some kids at school tried to dispel my hope. And a few ardent non-believers even ridiculed me. "Santa can't do that." Or worse still, "there's no Santa Claus."
But I didn't listen to them. Christmas day would come and I would prove them all wrong.
Much to my disappointment, no bat wings were under the tree that Christmas morning. Instead, in my stocking, I found a rubber toy bat, the kind you see around Halloween time. I was devastated. Granted, "devastated" at that age didn't last long. And there were terrific gifts to be had, so joy triumphed.
But I couldn't help but wonder, what had gone wrong?
Perhaps Santa misread my letter. No, that's impossible; my drawing was so precise. Or maybe I had not been good. Nope, that wasn't it either - I was an awesome kid! Whatever it was, it started me rethinking this Santa Claus idea.
As a young boy, I thought Santa could do anything. But as I got older and began to understand the world more, I learned there were limits - even for ol' St. Nick. Sure, he can fly his sleigh using magical powers, but making gifts for kids that allow the same would be crazy. Imagine it - a bunch of youngsters flying around on sleds - or bat wings. Christmas morning would be absolute chaos as countless kids received the gift of flight.
In later years, I tempered my requests with reality. And Santa delivered. Despite the challenges we often faced, Santa always showed up. It gave us hope and a reason to celebrate together as a family.
Santa Claus worked some real magic for us, and for a time each Christmas, everything was right in the world.
Like so many, I finally stopped believing in Santa Claus. It must have been around when I was eleven or twelve. Yes, I believed in him late in childhood; I was still hoping for a Christmas miracle in my pre-teens. It was hard for me to let go even then.
But soon enough, peer pressure did its thing. And the magic was gone.
Christmas was still great. But as many teens do, I became obsessed with the consumerist aspect of the holiday. And despite getting "bigger and better" gifts each year, the surprises were fewer. Without Santa Claus, the joys diminished.
The joy continued to decline over the years. At times, I didn’t even want to celebrate the holidays. Going home was a chore, and I was all grown up anyway. Too old and too wise to believe.
It wasn't until my son was born that the Christmas magic came back into my life.
When I say this, I mean Santa came back.
Sure, for my son's first couple of Christmases, his mom and I played the part. We'd put him to bed and then stack his gifts around the tree. I knew that we had been "Santa" those years. But our son didn't.
It felt real to him. It was magic. And seeing that spark in his eyes - the surprise, wonder, and gratitude - it sparked something in me too.
I realized that Santa was real. And he had been all along.
These last several Christmases have been nothing short of spectacular for me. Now that I believe again, the holiday brings new hope. And each year, no matter what has happened, Santa has come through.
One striking example was Christmas 2015. We had evacuated (literally) from our newly purchased home because of asbestos. It was loose in the heating ducts, a remnant of a shortcutted remodel of this 1960s home. Not knowing what to do or where to go, and not having any nearby family or friends to turn to, we went camping in the desert. For a time, it felt like all was lost.
But there, just the three of us, alone in the desert, Santa found us. Under a creosote bush near where we camped, there the presents sat Christmas morning. Neatly placed under a shrub in the desert sand - as if it had been the plan all along.
It turned out to be a wonderful day. My son was amazed and had an absolute ball. It was as special as any other Christmas for him. Sure, it was a hard time for us, not knowing what came next. But the magic of Santa Claus helped carry us through.
That’s the true gift Santa brings.
This last Christmas was also big for us. Santa delivered yet again, but this time, we almost caught him! Almost.
I don't know what it was, but there had been a noise. It woke both my son and me, so we went out together to look. I think it was around four o'clock on Christmas morning. Bleary-eyed, we looked around. But Santa was nowhere to be found. He had been there, though, that was evident.
Under the tree, there were new gifts, and our stockings were full. The cookies we had left out were all gone, as was the milk. And the carrots for the reindeer had all been eaten too.
Those reindeer are incredibly messy. There were little orange bits everywhere.
“We were so close!” My son exclaimed. “We almost saw Santa, Papa!”
Since nearly catching the jolly fellow, I've entertained a lot more questions about Santa from my son. "How does he get everywhere in one night? How does he get in our house without a chimney? How does he fly? And how can he eat so many cookies?!" These and many more inquiries came up at random times throughout the year.
I never lie to my son. Especially not about Santa. I tell him what I know, which is often that I don't know.
As for the biggest question of all, Is Santa Claus real? I do have an answer for that.
Yes, Santa is real. If you believe.
Granted, this conditional answer is circular. But only somewhat. The deeper meaning - that one must believe to see - hints at the fluid nature of perception. Perhaps it even challenges reality itself.
Metaphysics aside, I know from firsthand experience that Santa is real. Those blue toy tractors taught me so long ago. And I also know that when I quit believing, Santa no longer existed for me. That period of not believing made it feel as if Santa had never existed at all.
It’s no wonder so many are convinced he isn’t real.
But in the last few years, I've learned that belief is not an “all or nothing” thing. No proof is not disproof. And simply because I thought one thing once doesn't mean I can't change my mind.
Yes, there are facts. And learning these helps us all navigate a “functional reality” necessary to survive. But believing in some matters, like Santa Claus, are entirely a choice.
I’ve come to know that if I open my heart to believing, then real magic will happen.
Look, as a man of science, I know Santa can’t really be real. I am a logical person (often to a fault) and must adhere to the laws of physics - because I have no choice. And neither do you. Trust me - if you hitch a team of deer to a sled and try and fly off a cliff, bad things will happen. The same goes for bat wings, which is probably why Santa didn't make them for me.
But as a father, I believe in Santa Claus. While I don't know how he does what he does, I hope he can do it. And my son believes he can, and that’s really the point.
So here’s the score: Science & Logic - 1; Hope & Belief - 2.
Santa wins.
With all that settled, there’s still a little matter that troubles me. I would love some more "tangible" proof. Not to make him any more real. No, that needs no more evidence (see above). But it would…well…I want it just because. Who doesn’t, right? It’s like knowing what happens after death. Or proof that God exists. We all want it. And we want to catch Santa red-handed.
A picture. Maybe some DNA. Perhaps a sit-down recorded chat where we discuss his workshop.
To this end, my son and I have come up with a plan. It’s a beautifully simple plan. One might say, “foolproof.”
This year, we will finally have proof of Santa Claus.
"How?" You must be asking. Like I said, it's simple and foolproof:
We are going to stay awake and listen.
Why hasn't anyone tried this before?! Prepare yourselves.
I'll send word once we have it.
Until next time. Science. Fiction. Create [some Christmas magic].
JRC
Bring back Christmas to one and all🎄
Awww. My favorite read yet. So much magic and hope. It’s a journey of a story 🎄🥰🎅🏼 Thank you 😊