I slouched down in the passenger seat of our old Pontiac
'cause it was the cool way to sit when one is in the fourth
grade. My dad was driving downtown to shop and I was
going along for the ride. At least that's what I had told
him -- actually I had an important question to ask that
had been on my mind for a couple of weeks and this was
the first time I had been able to maneuver myself into his
presence without being overt about it.
"Dad..." I started. And stopped.
"Yup?" he said.
"Some of the kids at school have been saying something
and I know it's not true." I felt my lower lip quiver from
the effort of trying to hold back the tears I felt threateing
the inside corner of my right eye -- it was always the one
that wanted to cry first.
"What is it, Pumpkin?" I knew he was in a good mood
when he used this endearment.
"The kids say there is no Santa Claus." Gulp. One tear
escaped. "They say I'm dumb to believe in Santa
anymore...it's only for little kids." My left eye started with
a tear on the inside track.
"But I believe what you told me. That Santa is real. He is,
isn't he, Dad?"
Up to this point we had been cruising down Newell
Avenue, which in thos days a two-lane road lined with
oak trees. At my question, my dad glanced over at my
face and body position. He pulled over to the side of the
road and stopped the car. Dad turned off the engine and
moved over closer to me, his still-little girl huddled in the
corner.
"The kids at school are wrong, Patty. Santa Claus is
real."
"I knew it!" I heaved a sigh of relief.
"But there is more I need to tell you about Santa. I think
you're old enough to understand what I am going to
share with you. Are you ready?" My dad had a warm
gleam in his eyes and a soft expression on his face. I
knew something big was up and and I was ready, 'cause
I trusted him completely. He would never lie to me.
"Once upon a time there was a real man who travelled
the world and gave away presents to deserving childrem
wherever he went. You will find him in many lands with
different names, but what he had in his heart was the
same in every language. In America we call him Santa
Claus. He is the spirit of unconditional love and the desire
to share that love by giving presents from the heart.
When you get to a certain age, you come to realize that
the real Santa Claus is not the guy who comes down your
chimney on Christmas Eve. The real life and spirit of this
magical elf lives forever in your heart, my heart, Mom's
heart and in the hearts and minds of all people who
believe in the joy that giving to others brings. The real
spirit of Santa becomes what you can give rather than
what you get. Once you understand this and it becomes a
part of you, Christmas becomes even more exciting and
more magical because you come to realize the magic
comes from you when Santa lives in your heart. Do you
understand what I am trying to tell you?"
I was gazing out the fromt window with all my
concentration at a tree in front of us. I was afraid to look
at my dad -- the person who had told me all my life that
Santa was a real being. I wanted to believe like I
believed last year -- that Santa was a big fat elf in a red
suit. I did not want to swallow the grow-up pill and see
anything different.
"Patty, look at me." My dad waited. I turned my head
and looked at him.
Dad had tears in his eyes, too -- tears of joy. His face
shone with the light of a thousand galaxies and I saw in
his eyes the eyes of Santa Claus. The real Santa Claus.
The one who spent time choosing special things I wanted
for all the Christmases past since the time I had come to
live on this planet. The Santa who ate my carefully
decorated cookies and drank the warm milk. The Santa
who probably ate the carrot I left for Rudolph. The Santa
who -- despite his utter lack of mechanical skills -- put
together bicycles, wagons and otehr miscellaneous items
during the wee hours of Christmas mornings.
I got it. I got the joy, the sharing, the love. My dad pulled
me to him in a warm embrace and just helds me for what
seemed the longest time. We both cried.
"Now you belong to a special group of people," Dad
continued. "You will share in the joy of Christmas from
now on, every day of the year, not only on a special day.
For now, Santa lives in your heart just like he lives in
mine. It is your responsibility to fulfill the spirit of giving as
your part of Santa living inside of you. This is one of the
most important things that can happen to you in your
whole life, because now you know that Santa Claus
cannot exist without people like you and me to keep him
alive. Do you think you can handle it?"
My heart swelled with pride and I'm sure my eyes were
shining with excitement. "Of course, Dad. I want him to
be in my heart, just like he's in yours. I love you, Daddy.
You're the best Santa there ever was in the whole
world."
When it comes time in my life to explain the reality of
Santa Claus to my children, I pray to the spirit of
Christmas that I will be as eloquent and loving as my dad
was the day I learned that the spirit of Santa Claus
doesn't wear a red suit. And I hope they will be as
receptive as I was that day. I trust them totally and I think
they will.
-- Patty Hansen
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Christmas Roses
DEAR SANTA 
