My husband told me to take today and go have fun. He said I'd been working way too hard, and I deserved a day off. I kissed his face and grabbed the car keys and headed out to the nicest mall in the area. It was wonderful. I finally broke down and bought The Joy of Cooking. I worked on my novel. I found a great top for our annual fancy date--on sale! I bought little doo-dads and stocking-stuffers. Then I saw The Nativity. If there'd been a guy at a table just outside the movie offering a DVD of what I'd just seen at some ridiculous price, I'd have bought. I haven't seen such a wonderful Bible movie ever. I apologize to fans of The Passion of the Christ but I didn't like that as much as I loved this. Take tissues.
Then I did a little more putzing to come back to the everyday world before driving and I saw a "write a letter to Santa" kit. It had cutesy stationary and envelopes boldly stating "no address required." And I remembered my father's letter to Santa.
My dad is one of those people who was born with faith, and as a child a lot of that faith was invested in Santa. He'd reached that age where believing in Santa can get a guy beat up, so his mother took him aside and gently filled him in. Dad wouldn't buy it. He told her she was wrong and that he'd prove it. He was going to write to Santa and ask him to bring something special just for his mommy so that she'd know that Santa was real. There was nothing more she could do but wait for the inevitable disillusionment Christmas day.
Christmas day came and all the packages were opened and everyone was enjoying their new toys when my dad saw a box that was still unopened. The shape was similar to the box his Pop Warner football pads had come in so Grandmother had Dad open it. When he did he erupted with "See, Mom. See. I told you Santa was real. I told you." There in the box was a beautiful bride doll for Grandmother just like Dad had asked. I have it in my hope chest, and to this day no one knows how it got there--except for Santa.
I've never had my kids write to Santa. I've presented Santa as a person to emulate, and we've watched the excellent video Nicholas, the Boy Who Became Santa, but I've never taught them that Santa brings their presents. Standing today looking at that goofy kit, I wondered if I kept them from a great faith building exercise. Maybe in my eagerness to keep the focus on Christ, I've missed an opportunity to let the children grow in faith on their level. Too late now for us, but maybe not for you.
Merry Christmas!
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2 comments:
I made a point to tell my kids from the earliest that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and any other myths I've forgotten, were not real. Terrible. I know.
My reasoning was this: When they find that I've lied to them, or just provided some convenient fiction, about Santa Claus, et alia, how will they know I'm not spinning the same sort of stuff about Christ.
That's fine as far as it goes, but I've always believed that there was more to Santa than meets the eye. As a child, I believed that Santa only took care of kids who didn't have other resources. I had parents who could afford to provide special things for me at Christmastime, so Santa didn't need to come to my house. I still felt he was interested in my behavior, and that it was a good idea to please him. My parents didn't really teach me that. My mother had had that horrible let-down experience when she discovered that Santa wasn't real. She was so adamant in her Anti-Santa stance that I went to the mall when I was four or five and wondered who the guy with the beard was. My grandmother didn't tell me about the bride doll until I was thirteen and ready for the responsibility of caring for the doll. Somehow over time and with very little support I developed my own theory of Santa as role-model and super secret present-giver for the poor. Recently, I've decided that's because there really is a Saint Nicholas, and he really does continue to be generous and to foster generosity.
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