This evening, just as my sister was getting ready to hand the phone to my niece so I could wish her a Merry Christmas I shouted, “Wait!”
“What?” my sister asked.
“Does she still believe in Santa Claus?” I inquired.
It was imperative that I know this because my niece is almost nine years old and if I remember right, by the time I was that age I had begun to question the existence of Santa Claus. I had a little sister who was only a toddler when I was eight and a half and I knew that believing in Santa meant more Christmas presents so I convinced myself that he was real for a few more years, but technically I didn’t really believe anymore.
I wanted to ask my niece if she was excited for Santa to come, what she had asked him to bring her for Christmas, if she had left milk and cookies out for him, if she was going to have a hard time going to sleep because of the anticipation of what Santa might bring: I wanted our Christmas conversation to be about Santa, but I wanted it to be one with a child who was still caught up in the delight of Christmas Eve, not one with a skeptical “tween” who thought I was off my rocker for asking her questions more suited to her 2 ½ year old brother.
“Yes,” my sister said, “She still believes in Santa this year.”
And so, to my delight, I got to talk about the letter my niece had written to Santa and what she had asked him to bring her (a telescope and a guitar). She told me that milk and cookies were on top of the entertainment center waiting for him along with a carrot for Rudolph. She told me that Santa had already been busy for hours because did I know that in other parts of the world it was already Christmas Day?
I was almost convinced that Santa was going to stop at my house by the time she abruptly informed me that it was time to hang up: She had to go to sleep so that Santa wouldn’t pass over the house because she was still awake.
So I wished her Merry Christmas and let her go to bed where I am sure she will dream of the stars she will see with that telescope and the music she will play with that guitar.
Although she didn’t know it, the happiness in her voice was my Christmas present tonight… and it was the best present I received this year.
Merry Christmas everyone!
Anne R says:
I had a similar experience at Christmas Eve with my daughter – I wasn’t entirely sure she believed in Santa anymore, I had no idea a Santa was planned, and all of a sudden my MIL shouts from the kitchen: I can see a santa! (In scandinavia, santa actually makes an appearance on christmas eve, handing out gifts, pinching mum’s buttom and being both scary and fun.) We went to the window to see if we could see him, and H said with horror in her voice: Mummy, I’m a little scared. I don’t know if I have been good enough this year.
The joy when she discovered that she had been nice enough, and got not one, but three presents from santa – that was my christmas present.
1 January 2009 at 13:28
Lisa says:
Just was blog surfing this morning and came across yours and followed the link to this story. Just loosing my grandfather, who passed on Christmas Eve, I remember holidays at my grandparents house…which is always strange as I was raised Jewish, but we always went to my grandparents house for Christmas. Until I was about 8 or 9, they left the Christmas tree bare until we arrived. My sisters and I decorated the tree, while my grandparents told us stories of the ornaments. On the Christmas Eve, we would leave the decorated tree which was bare underneath and head off to bed. The morning of Christmas, I was always amazed to find our stocks stuffed and the tree buried in presents. It wasn’t until I was about 9 or 10, that I found out that Santa didn’t exist – I was woken up by a winter storm and went down stairs where I heard voices. I found my grandparents and mother wrapping the presents and stuffing the stockings. You know, to this day, I don’t remember what my reaction to that was, but the memories of the magical Christmases still remain with me.
7 January 2009 at 08:51