I didn’t as a child, but now I do.
Well, actually I did once believe fervently in Santa Claus until I was six. But I had certain specific questions. I lived in an apartment building in New York City and found it hard to imagine him coming down the chimney, since this chimney serviced some 100 apartments and some 200 children. My mother told me that that was why Santa left a large, black garbage bag filled with toys outside Apartment 4A on Christmas morning. My wicked friend Eileen, who was seven, told me there was no Santa Claus and that I was stupid to believe that he was real. I hated her for this reality check, but it did get me thinking. Like where were the reindeer, and where especially was Rudolph? And how did Santa Claus service all the kids in the world, especially in my building? And who was that man outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral ringing a bell, when down the street at the Rockefeller Center Skating Rink there was another Santa whose white beard was askew, revealing dark stubble? It didn’t all add up. And so I asked my mother if Santa was make-believe and if she was the real Santa? She said, “All you have to do is believe in him and you just say he is and he is. You say he is true because he brings you toys, so it is best to believe in him.”
And that’s why at this advanced age I decided to write to Santa, because I believe he lives at the North Pole and is a good man with good motives.
Thank you for giving me so many good toys over these many years. Thank you for my PALM PRE and for my SONY READER DIGITAL. I promise I will try to learn to use them. Thank you, Santa, for my most adorable son and for my all-suffering husband. Thank you for allowing me to realize my gifts and for giving me good friends and a salary that helps me get pretty things although I am known to re-gift many of them. Thank you for helping me face my existential existence, by allowing me to carry a tune well, which allows me to sing out loud on a sad day. And thank you for giving me time on this troubled planet to dance if I choose to, even though I can only wear flats since gravity has made the balls of my feet hurt. And thank you, Mr. Claus, for making me believe in the magic of loving and knowing I can care for people and people can care for me more than a million. I know that you will always be at the North Pole, and that gives me great comfort. Please keep warm and thanks for loving Mrs. Claus even though she’s chubby. Always remember me as one of your good children, now grown up, and, by the way, I need a new pair of UGGS – the brownish golden ones that you can fold down so the alpaca lining shows. I hope they don’t have to kill the llama; if they do, scratch the alpaca. And so, as my mother told me, I can’t see any reason not to believe in you. All I have to do is say you are and therefore you will be. As far as I can see, there’s no downside.
To you, Mrs. Claus and all the elves, Happy Holidays!
All my love,