As large and diverse as this world is, there are moments and
experiences that we all have shared.
As large and diverse as this world is, there are moments and experiences that we all have shared. If we were around, we all remember where we were when Kennedy was shot; when a man walked on the moon; when we heard about the events of 9/11. No matter how separated we are by geography or ideology, events like these erase our differences and unify us emotionally.
The holidays remind me of another event we have all shared, but each of us at a different time. Do you remember the day you learned that there was no Santa Claus? Do you remember how the world changed forever when you realized it? Don MacLean said that when Buddy Holly passed, the music died. When I learned that there was no Santa, the magic died.
I remember. I heard it from a neighbor girl who was one of those mean kids. “Did you know that your mom and dad are Santa Claus?” her voice rose at the end of the question in a classic bratty sneer. She clearly was enjoying shattering any remaining childhood illusions I might have. Thank God she didn’t tell me right then how babies were made.
This news troubled me. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was afraid to, but I finally summoned the courage to hop out of bed and walk upstairs to ask my dad. He was alone at his desk. “Dad, are you and Mom Santa Claus?” Gently, he told me that he was, and that I should not tell my younger sister. I took seriously the responsibility of keeping such horrible news from her.
Wasn’t it a wonderful myth? There is a wonderful jolly man who lives at the North Pole. He knows who I am, and he will bring me presents if I am good. On Christmas Eve, he will come to my house – AND EVERY OTHER KID’S HOUSE IN THE WHOLE WORLD – flying through the air in a sleigh drawn by a team of reindeer. He eats the cookies and milk we leave for him. How much more proof do you need? What a wonderful world.
Now, when I look at an 8- or 9-year-old child with the softened heart of middle-aged curmudgeon, I ache inside at the thought of that child facing that news. The world they imagine must instantly become so much poorer. I imagine a sinking their sinking feeling and picture a little piece of their bright and hopeful hearts instantly shriveling like a little raisin. The long process of replacing a child’s vivid imagination with the world’s brutal reality has begun.
This is the time of year to try and revive the magic, if only for a while. If you have small children who still believe, the job is done for you just by watching their excitement. My kids are too old, so I have devised another method left over from their youth. We have a wonderful book called “The Polar Express” by Chris Van Allsberg. The illustrations and the story of his book pull me back to the days before that nasty girl changed my world. For 10 minutes, the magic is back and I’m an innocent child again.
Happy Holidays to you. Tell your family you love them. Whether it is through a child, a book or a device of your own making, I hope you find that magical feeling. If nothing else works, try eggnog.
