I remember nervously sitting on Santa’s lap and reciting what I wanted him to bring me for Christmas. I was one of those kids who wholeheartedly believed in him for a very long time. Then one day I knew that he was not real. Nobody ever told me the truth about where those gifts under the tree originated. Somehow I just reached a point of no longer thinking that the magic of Santa was tue. I played along with the ruse until my brothers came of age and no longer fell for the story as well. 

Once I knew that it was my mother who thoughtfully filled the space under the tree with delights for me and my siblings I felt a great connection with her generosity because I knew that her budget was small and yet she managed to find unique gifts that did not put her in debt. I often wondered where she hid all of those things so that we would not find them. Our house did not have many nooks and crannies that were secure enough to insure that our preying eyes would not stumble upon the gifts before December 25. Maybe she kept them in the trunk of her car. I never thought to ask how she pulled the whole thing off. 

Eventually I was in charge of being Santa along with my husband. I never had to inform my daughters that Santa was not real. They found the place where we had secreted the magical gifts, but never told us of their discovery. They went along with the ruse afraid that if they admitted to disbelief in the jolly man with the red suit they may not receive as many treasures on Christmas day. Eventually we simply transitioned to the idea that Santa was not going to come again because they had passed the age at which he stopped at our house. 

I have to admit that I still miss the wonder of it all. I vividly recall running to the living room with my brothers only to find that many treasures had been left while we were sleeping. I always knew which section of the display was mine because I was the only girl. I never thought to ask my brothers how they determined what belonged to each of them. I was too busy feeling elated that Santa had judged me to be good enough for his largesse. 

My youngest daughter told me that her eldest son still believed in Santa when he was in the sixth grade. His sister was worried that he might tell his friends what he hoped Santa would bring him certain gifts and be humiliated when the boys laughed at his naivety. She insisted that her mother needed to save him by telling him the truth and so came the difficult task of breaking it to the boy that the whole story of Santa was a myth. 

My heart was broken when I learned that my grandson’s reaction to hearing that there was no Santa resulted in him sobbing. He told his mother that it felt like someone had suddenly died. A kind of gloom settled over the occasion until my daughter told him that he would need to continue the tradition for the sake of this little brother. Somehow he liked the idea of being part of making someone else happy. He even thanked his mother and sister later as he realized that he would have made a fool of himself in front of his buddies had they not so wisely interceded. 

There are many arguments about Santa and whether or not we should tell our little ones that he is real. Some people never even start the tradition but most families with little ones continue the tale generation after generation. I suppose that it is an individual thing but I would not give up the feeling that that I had when I still believed in Santa for anything. The delight that those Christmas mornings brought me were immeasurable. Somehow I never felt betrayed for being the victim of a lie. Instead I came to appreciate the goodness of my mother who sacrificed so much so that me and my brothers would have a happy Christmas morning. 

It’s been a long time since Santa came to our house. We haven’t heard the squealing of delight from the voices of children for many years. Everyone has been grown for a long time. There are not elves on our shelves or visits to Santa at the mall anymore. Those photos of us and our little ones looking terrified as we sat on the old man’s lap are stowed away but somehow we all still believe in the magic and understand why we have such stories at all. It is a way of showing our love for each other on the very special day when we celebrate the birth of Jesus whose message for all time was for us to love. All of our traditions are symbolic of that one command that he insisted we must strive to achieve. 

Each December 25, when we gather together with our extended family I feel that Christmas spirit in full force. Love fills the room and laughter floats in the air. Santa still lives in our hearts.