I always found this time of year interesting. My parents never told me he wasn't real. And at the age I am now in my mind I can clearly see how he could not be real. On the other hand, the child in me, the person in me that believes in Big Foot (I mean I follow him on twitter for god's sake!), the person in me that believes in the Lock Ness Monster, and the one that believes in ghost and aliens gives indulgences to the possibility of Santa being no more fictional then that of you or I.
Growing up in public schools (as I am sure it was the same in private schools) you run into the kids who want to make life hell for you. So they tell you things you didn't want to hear. Santa was a fake. It's just your parents. They eat the cookies, and they put the presents under the tree. They give you cold hard facts: He's to fat to fit down a chimney. Reindeer are too slow to get all over the world. Of course you battle back with the shield of magic and the sword of belief. It never works of course. Either way though, it gets in your head. You decide to try and stay up to see and catch who ever it is in the act. You can never just stay awake. Even if you think you had only dosed off for a moment, that was the time that "he" struck. Eating the cookies, drinking half the milk and leaving a wealth beneath the tree that you had only seen in commercials and windows at the malls.
So the thought still lingers. It's there for another year. In the back of your mind. Making no noise, just sitting there waiting for the opportune time to poke his rosey red cheeked head out and make you start wondering. Of course it's around the same time of year every year. Just about the time you start wondering if the deeds, both good and bad, are going to be enough to get you on the good list or if you are about to be keeping Christmas morning warm by stoking the fire with that lump of coal you are sure to receive if you miscalculated your good deeds for the year. Either way, if you believe at that point or not, it was enough to make you re-evaluate your position on the whole subject. And with that thought, if only for one more year, you believe again, just in case.
Time quickly flies by. You are 15 or 16 again. You want the coolest new thing out. You scoff at the idea of writing a letter to Santa and yet you still do. In secret of course, but you write it. You do it quickly, quietly and when no is looking you slip it in the mail box. Why? Your mother used to handle the letters and since you didn't want to involve her, it's the best idea you can come up with.
Those rosey red cheeks still pop up when least expected. Maybe it was because you have always been a kid at heart. Or maybe it was because the thought of believing makes you feel like there is something wholesome and good still left in the world and that's almost like a blanket to you. Maybe because it just reminds you of a time in your life when things were simple, when things were fun. Either way, you never stop believing totally, there is always a little something there to hold on to. At least for those who never gave into the bullies in school, that is.
