“I don’t believe in Santa Claus!” This profound statement came from our seven-year-old son, Walter. We looked at him in disbelief. Our family had been having such fun around the Christmas tree in our living room. The fireplace was burning with dancing flames, and our stockings were hung from the mantel with care. How could he say such a thing and on Christmas Eve? An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Thoughts rushed through my head. What to say? Will it spoil Christmas for four-year-old Diana who was so excited and was now playing with our new kitten under the Christmas tree?
I finally answered Walter, “Of course, there is a Santa, as long as you believe in him.” Then, suddenly everybody was talking about Christmas. Walter was running his finger along a pattern in the rug. He, as much as anyone else in the family, had been so excited about Christmas from the day two weeks earlier when we bought our tree and decorated it, to the last stocking hung. The wreath was on the door, the angel looked on from the top of the tree, and gifts were mysteriously appearing underneath the tree. A lot of secrets were being told and lists had been made for Santa. The plan tonight was to have Christmas music. We were going to sing carols tonight. Diana said she wanted to sing “Silent Night.” She said she knew all the words. Our two teenaged daughters were going to help with the carols, Jan at the piano to play and Peggy to lead the singing. Walter said he wanted to sing “Up on the Housetop”. We gathered around the piano. My mind continued to race ahead. Certainly, Walter was old enough to make up his own mind about Santa, but I was not able to accept this, tonight especially. This was our first Christmas in Illinois where we had moved in the fall. We were all excited, for we were having a white Christmas! We were beginning to get acquainted with the neighbors, and the children had made friends at school, but they still missed ‘home’ in Colombia. However, the excitement of snow diminished any longing for a warmer climate.
As we sang, I remembered how upset I was several years ago when Jan was seven, and my mother was visiting for Christmas. Jan suddenly asked her, “Is there really, really a Santa Claus, Grandmommy?” This was my first child asking that important question, and I expected her grandmother to give Jan an affirmative answer. But she didn’t. Calmly as anything she answered, “No dear, there isn’t a real Santa Claus. We all believe in Christmas, and we celebrate in many ways, and one of them is to pretend Santa Clause brings gifts to little children around the world. He is called a different name in many countries, and sometimes he leaves gifts in wooden shoes in Holland. He is called St. Nickolas in some places, Father Christmas in some countries, and Kris Kringle in others. Maybe we can find a book about it. It’s a wonderful way to celebrate.” I was really upset that she had told her the truth! When we were alone, I asked why in the world she had told her Santa wasn’t real. She answered, “Jan is almost eight years old, and she is certainly old enough to be told the truth. It is wise to wait until they ask, but never lie to your children. Never deceive them.” I knew she was right, but it was still hard for me to accept. Actually, I think Jan was rather smug to have a secret unknown to her siblings. She had promised not to tell the others.
But now, Walter hadn’t asked the question, he simply made a statement. Was I wrong to say, “Of course he’s real, as long as you believe”? I told myself I had to protect Diana! The anticipation of Santa’s visit was especially keen this year. We had taken the two younger ones to visit Santa downtown. It was Diana’s first visit with Santa and although she was reluctant to sit on his lap, she whispered her secret wish into his ear and happily accepted a candy cane as she climbed off his lap. Walter enthusiastically shook his hand and asked for a toy soldier, a car and a football, please.
Walter had not said anything more about Santa that evening. Things were normal again, but I noticed Walter was rather thoughtful with a faraway look in his eyes. I felt terrible, as though I had failed him and my role as an honest mother. He had stated what he believed. I had done what I thought best. Now, I couldn’t undo it, not tonight. But, when it comes up again, I thought, I will be honest with him.
I remembered when I found out the truth. That was in the days when one didn’t see Santa on every street corner or in a store. But at Sunday School when I was about six or seven years old, there was a Christmas party and Santa was coming to pass out gifts to the Sunday School classes. I saw him coming, and in my excited shyness, I looked down as he approached me. I recognized the shoes. I had seen them before! There were Mr. Richardson’s. I recognized them because they were different from other men’s shoes. They were black and shiny and had pointy toes with a little design on them made from tiny holes. He was the Sunday School superintendent and stopped by our classes to pick up our little collection plates every Sunday which had our pennies we dropped in it every Sunday. He always made a point of saying how God would put our pennies and those from the other boys and girls to work, helping children who had no food to eat. Why was he playing like Santa Claus that day? I knew he wasn’t the real one. My doubts began, and though I don’t remember, I’m sure my mother told me the truth. I guess it wasn’t devastating, or I would remember.
We had done all the traditional pre-Christmas activities and projects with the children. They loved the story of Baby Jesus. We made a Nativity scene with a collection of animals from their toy box, and I found Mary and Joseph and the Baby Jesus in a shop which sold Christmas things. These were unbreakable, and I wanted them so the children could play freely with them while we talked about the Virgin birth, the Star of Bethlehem, and the Three Wise Men. Jan found a camel and Peggy a donkey, which we added to the scene. “Let’s have some hot chocolate and some of the Christmas cookies we made, and then I think it will be time for bed,” I suggested. “Christmas comes early at our house!”
The phone rang, and I ran to get it in the kitchen, wondering who could be calling. It was our neighbor, Jo, who asked in a soft but excited voice, “Are the kids still up?” Then “Good,” when I answered that they were. She said, “Santa’s at our house and wants to visit yours! Don’t say anything, just turn on the front porch light!” She hung up.
calendar made by Mrs. Foley.
My husband asked who called, and I said it was a wrong number. I took a sip of my chocolate. All of a sudden there was a pounding at the door and the sound of sleigh bells! The door was flung open before I could get there, and Santa burst into the room in all his glory, red velvet suit and hat, a huge natural white beard, rosy cheeks and a great big smile. “Is this where Walter and Diana live? I want to meet them and the rest of the family, too.” Mouths were popping open. “Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas! Have you been good children?” “Yes, Yes,” they whispered. “And do those teenagers make good grades in school?” “Yes, Yes.” He bent over and looked into their eyes. “No switches this year, but you’d better get to bed! I have a lot to do tonight, and I’m going around the world in my sleigh with my reindeer. I hafta’ go now!” He gave each a big hug. Ran to the door and shouted again, “Merry Christmas to all! I only deliver my gifts when all good children are asleep.” With that, he was gone. We heard the sleigh bells again, and the children ran out the door to see him, but he was gone. I caught myself looking up in the sky, too. I could hear those bells far off in the dark sky! I knew it was Jo’s father who visited children in hospitals every Christmas, and she sent him over to our house. I will always believe in Santa; “as long as you believe, he is real.”
Walter was holding his teddy bear when I tucked him in that night. Diana had fallen asleep instantly. He looked at his teddy bear and said, “Teddy thinks there really is a Santa Claus, Mommy.” I gave him an extra hug and kissed him goodnight. I said, “I think so, too.”
