A Story of Christmas Magic

My mother tells me that when I was a child, I believed in Santa Claus. I believed with all of my heart. Even when the kids on the bus told me that their parents admitted it was them, I refused to believe it.

My mother also tells me that when I found out the truth about Santa Claus, not only was I upset, but I was incredibly unbearable to be around. They tried to reverse the truth. Convince me it was all just a big joke. That Santa really was real.

More interesting to me is the fact that I don’t remember any of it. I’m sure I was 10 or 11 or even 12. I can still remember the cereal commercials that played during Saturday morning cartoons. I can still remember the day I rode my tricycle outside hoping someone would notice my lacy snapsuit and feeling crushed when no one did. I can still remember laying with my dog Buffy, as she lay under the Christmas tree with the saddest and sweetest German Shepherd eyes I’ve ever seen.

But I don’t remember the day I learned that there was no Santa Claus.

Sometimes I wonder if there ever really was a day or if I just gradually came to accept it. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve never really accepted it.

Oh sure, I know there isn’t a jolly old elf living at the North Pole. And yes, I’ve heard all the logistical arguments for why it’s just downright preposterous to think one man and a flying sleigh delivers toys all over the world.

And yet as parents, we still continue the myth with our children. We answer all the typical questions.

How does Santa know where we live?

How does Santa fit down our chimney?

How does Santa get in if we don’t have a chimney?

How old is Santa?

Will Santa ever die?

I answer the questions as best I can, carefully cataloguing my answers so as to have a reference when the questions come up again. It’s a tangled web we weave, this story of Santa Claus. And yet, most of us that celebrate Christmas perpetuate it.

And when all else fails and I’m faced with a question I can’t answer, I have my stock reply, “It’s Christmas magic.” And just like that, the answer is received and processed and my son is satisfied.

I watch the Christmas specials every year and this year, especially, I felt a strong yearning to watch them. I honestly think I miss the Christmas magic. I watch movies like, The Polar Express, and start to think maybe there’s some truth to the story that we can’t hear Santa’s bell because we’ve stopped believing.

Then, my sense of reason kicks in because, after all, I don’t want to be committed at the 41 year old woman who believes in Santa Claus. I do know that I buy the presents for my son. I do know that we eat the milk and cookies set out for Santa. I know the truth and yet something still lingers. What about Christmas magic?

I have to admit that this year, with my son being almost five years old, I am delighting in his wonder and amazement with all things Christmas. He talks to Santa like he’s praying to God. And he wakes up every morning looking for that elf. You know the one.

This year, in particular, the story of the Elf on the Shelf seems to be getting a lot of attention. Some of it is in good fun. Some of it is a little over the top. And some of it seems almost a little spiteful.

We have an elf in our household. I love it for nostalgic reasons. When I was growing up, we had an elf that looked exactly like that elf. Our elf had red hair and a gold lamé outfit and simply hung on our Christmas tree. I’m not sure that I would have ever bought that he was alive and flew back to Santa each night.

Regardless, it’s a concept that resonates with my son. We don’t use it as a threat as other parents do. He just like a reminder of the daily magic of Christmas. And a healthy dose of magic is what we got the other morning.

My husband was out of town, as he has been so frequently. We’ve been a little on edge being by ourselves after an attempted break-in. We were in the kitchen and heard a distinctive ding sound. We looked at each and my son asked me what it was. I followed the direction of the sound and told him that it must be a truck backing up outside.

I went to the living room windows in the front of the house. I looked outside and saw nothing.

This happened to be the room in which, this year, we decided to put our Christmas tree. Our live tree filled up one corner of the room. The other corner was occupied by bookshelf that held a few collectibles and the resting position of our elf for that day. The elf was sitting beside a musical snow globe that I had bought for my husband on our very first Valentine’s Day together in 2000.

My son came into the living room and I told him I didn’t know what the sound was. And at that moment, the musical snow globe played about three notes of music and then stopped. We looked at each other and without hesitation I said, It must be Christmas magic.

I still believe.