Moving to Florida from Chicago three years ago involved going from a house with a brick fireplace and chimney to one with neither. Yet our daughter’s faith was unwavering. Trusting her father and I would leave the patio door unlocked, she understood Santa simply parked his sleigh and reindeer not on the treacherously high roof, but on our roomy pool deck well stocked with reindeer food and a bucket of fresh water. Santa then easily slipped – rather than squeezed – in through the sliding door. Gifts were thus effortlessly deposited under the tree while their bearer enjoyed refreshments in the kitchen.
Mysteriously, Santa’s presents were always wrapped in a unique paper imprinted with a repeating pattern of his face, topped off by special bows and tags also featuring his happy countenance. And that paper was never found in the collection of usual wrappings and decorations lying around the house in December.
Last year we even prepared a gourmet snack for Kris Kringle. Reasoning he could stomach only so many cookies (and it being too warm for hot cocoa in Florida) we left him an antipasto-style plate of meats, cheeses, dates and sweets. He left the plate empty.
Upon our child’s tenth birthday this July, I wistfully contemplated what this Christmas would bring. Had I already seen my last letter to Santa from her? Would the kids at school burst the bubble and shatter her illusions? Was it all over in our house? Since she is our only child, I knew there might not be many – or any – Santa years left. But it was merely July, so my thoughts waned until a few months passed, and suddenly in September I was hearing, “You know what I’d like for Christmas, mom?”
“Time to start your Christmas list,” I told her, which she dutifully did.
Fifth grade began and as the school weeks passed and December crept up on us, more questions and comments ensued. “Mom, have you ever seen Santa on Christmas Eve?” (Well, no I had to admit, I had not been so fortunate.) “Nicole at school actually has him on video!” (Saints preserve us!) “When do the elves come to start watching if you’re being good?” (after Thanksgiving), “What does Santa do if he sees you spying on him when you’re supposed to be sleeping?” (he winks, laughs, but doesn’t speak a word), “How does the Post Office know where to deliver my letter to Santa?” (just write North Pole and they’ll get it there) and “Where exactly is the North Pole anyway and how does the Post Office get the mail there?” (Satellite-precision air-drops, naturally).
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