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Believing in Santa Claus
Writing a Letter To Santa
She was at the grand age of eight. Barbie dolls were no longer all the rage. I hadn’t a clue what to get my daughter for Christmas so I asked her to write a letter to Santa. Samantha found a piece of lined notebook paper from her school binder and proceeded to write her letter on the white marble coffee table as she sat on the living room floor. I was sitting on the couch across from her. I marveled at how she sat so elegantly, her concentrated look and how beautiful she was; pale glowing skin, fair blonde hair, deep blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
Mommy, Can I Tell You Something?
A moment or two later, she looked up at me from her writing. “Mommy, can I tell you something?” She usually started her important conversations with this phrase.
She got up walked around the coffee table and sat beside me. She reached over and held one of my hands. Then she looked up at me. “Mommy, I don’t believe in Santa Clause. I hope you’re OK with it.”
I was amazed, grateful and deeply touched all at the same time. Samantha seemed more concern about my feelings then she did with her new found belief system. She added, “Mommy, it’s time for me to let him go but Santa Claus will always be in my heart.”
I Hope You're Not Upset
I asked her how she came about her conclusion. She answered, “Mommy, I don’t know. I just did. I hope you’re not upset.
I told her of course I wasn’t upset and if anything I was tremendously proud of her. I was at awe how she reached her decision all by herself and how she would continue to keep the spirit of Santa Clause in her heart. I was moved that she cared about my feelings.
I don’t know how or why I ended up with my special daughter. Samantha’s maturity and spirituality at such a young age were traits to behold. I was bracing myself for the big Santa question for quite some time. My husband and I had a funny feeling last year that our daughter would no longer believe in Santa
There is a Santa Alive In Our Hearts
In a span of not more than five minutes, my concern as a parent and how to deal with this passage of shedding childhood was gone. Admittedly, the thunder was taken out of me. I had waited so long to pass down to my daughter what had given me.
The memory of how my mother handled my question is one of the beautiful few I’ve retained over the years. I don’t remember how old I was when I asked the Santa question. All I remember was I hoped what my friends were telling me were lies; that Santa was not just some character us kids were spoon fed. Mom was honest in her answer. I was so relieved when she told me that yes, there was a Santa and that yes, he’s alive in our hearts. I accepted her comforting answer and still do, silly me.