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Santa Claus parades— that’s what we call them at our house. Three down. One to go. This past weekend, our home was full of family. Our grand-friend asked me if I believed in Santa Claus. Her mom heard the question and shot me that “look”. You know, the look a parent has when said parent wants their child to hang onto the so-called fantasy of Santa Claus a little bit longer. Our grandfriend is seven years old. Like most little kids, sometimes she’s wise to the ways of the grownup world and on other days, she’s just a little kid. I’ve heard the question before. Heck, when I was a little kid I asked my older sisters the same question and was promptly put right about their beliefs. It’s easy to not believe, but I was touched that she trusted me as the person who would tell her the truth about Santa Claus. Well, for those of you who know me (and let’s be honest, not many of you do) you know I do believe in Santa Claus.
Many, many years ago, after a whispered discussion with my sisters, I let go of my belief in Santa when I was about seven years old. My sisters even showed me the secret stash of gifts accumulating under my parents’ bed and in the back of their closet. In some strange way, not believing helped me cope with the disappointment that often accompanies a child’s high expectations of the season. When we had children of our own, LOML and I delighted in their excitement as Christmas approached. Their excitement, however, didn’t change my mind about Santa Claus being a fairy tale. It was what parents do—playing along and missing the magic. And then one day, our kids were grown and Christmas became a bit of a drag. An economic drag. An overeating drag. A sensory overload drag. A decorating drag. You name it, it was a drag. I was bogged down by the time the first Fa La La La La hit the airwaves. And then I hit the candy cane rock bottom in 2001. Long back-story for another day.
I wasn’t prepared for 2001. It was a year from Hades and I didn’t give a gingerbread cookie about much. My friend Susan, a true angel, suggested I help her out at the CAS Angel Tree office. The CAS Angel Christmas campaign operation isn’t a North Pole of tinsel, fairy dust and sparkles. It operates out of borrowed accommodations in Picton. Ofttimes it’s a dark, cramped, cold and industrial setting filled with an ocean of cardboard boxes. Each box had a child’s name on it and “gift statistics” for dozens of County children. Those boxes were lined up on the floor in alphabetic order, awaiting the kindness of individuals, businesses and organizations. In no time at all I realized I was going to be doing hours of heavy lifting in a cold workshop, south of the North Pole. Parents and caregivers with only enough money for the everyday basics and not enough for Christmas stopped in to sign their children up for a bit of real Christmas magic. And magic it was, and still is.
In a caring community, like Prince Edward County, the opportunities to believe in Santa are all around us. Like it or not, Christmas is really just around the corner. Think about making a donation to the Food Bank in Picton or the Storehouse Food Bank in Wellington. Get your Season’s Greetings Affective Disordered carcass into the CAS Angel Headquarters in Benson Hall in Picton and shop for a local angel. Buy a Christmas tree from the Picton Fire Hall and support their great causes. If you aren’t feeling up to Christmas, how about making a donation to Hospice Prince Edward or the Hospital Foundation or ROC. Keeping the holiday magic in our community is important.The Santa of story books brought gifts to every kid, no matter what. In real life, real people are really Santa Claus when they look for ways to be thoughtful.
It certainly wasn’t a lie to tell my grand-friend that I believe, with all my heart, in Santa Claus. Maybe in a few years I’ll tell her how she can be Santa Claus, too.
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