A Brief Essay About Santa Claus

“Robbie, there isn’t really a Santa Claus. Sorry.”

The tears well up in Robbie’s eyes as he contemplates what his mother is telling him. How could this be? The person he trusts most in this world is now telling him the exact opposite of what she has insisted on since the beginning of time. In Robbie’s short life, he is yet to have experienced a more shocking conflict of beliefs.

Robbie tries to hold onto anything he has left. “Well . . . then . . . are Heavenly Father and Jesus real?”

“Oh, yes!” His mother insists with a little bit of panic. “We were telling you the truth about those two! They are very real.”

Robbie spends the rest of a bittersweet Christmas adjusting his paradigm.

This is a true account of my cousin’s conversation with her son. Most of us have been on both sides of this conversation. Most of us have tasted the disappointment and loss of the transition from “believer” to “nonbeliever.” Is the magic children experience during their years as a “believer” worth the pain caused when the so-called truth about Santa Claus finally surfaces? Absolutely not! However, don’t be too hasty to put the story of Santa Claus on the shelf or to call me a Scrooge. My son, too, went to bed tonight speaking of “Sant.” I am willing to tell my son of Santa Claus because I know what many brilliant people do not know: Santa Claus is real!

I was either eight or nine. While looking at my sister’s dollhouse on Christmas day, I noticed a green material glued to the perimeter of the edifice. The material was clearly meant to represent grass. The material itself was of little importance, but its context got the wheels in my head turning. Two years earlier, we had received a beautiful train set from Santa Claus mounted to a table covered with the same green material. Furthermore, I was acutely aware that a roll of that same green material was stored in our basement.

Mom didn’t hesitate when I presented my evidence to her. She took me to the staircase and closed the door quietly. With her arms around me, she told me the rest of the story.

“Tyler . . . there really is a Santa Claus. He doesn’t live in the North Pole or fly to every house on Christmas Eve. Rather, we all are Santa Claus. Every single person who gives at Christmas time is Santa Claus.”

The significance of this conversation did not fully sink home in that moment. My own paradigm had been thrown for a loop. Clearly, the most jaw dropping discovery for me at that moment was that no one in a red suit actually lived in the North Pole. This put an X on the elves as well, which I found as a relief. Clearly, elves are the creepiest part of the Santa Claus story.

While serving as a missionary in Argentina, I got into a conversation with a companion about Santa Claus. Elder Reid and I walked long distances across a sparse community. Our long walks often lent themselves to profound philosophical topics such as Santa Claus.

As a young boy, David Reid suffered through the same rite of passage most of us do. While sitting in the back of the car, he got the infamous “confession” from his Mom. Balancing her attention on the road and her son seen through the rear-view mirror, David’s mom asked, “Are you OK?” Though Elder Reid assured his mom it was no big deal, he confided in me otherwise. He was devastated by the news—by the deception. I, too, am devastated by the deception. However, I believe the deception began on the day of the confession rather than ended then. Santa is real!

Clearly a three-year old is not yet mature enough to understand the magic of giving. I have one sleeping on the floor next to me right now, and I promise you, he always prefers getting. The fantastical story of Santa Claus is told in a way even he understands. As he grows older, the details will be clarified. Only those who eventually teach their children that Santa is not real deceive their children. Furthermore, they are no longer justified in the fantastical story they have perpetuated for so many years. What a waste!

As I write this, the magic of Christmas blankets the Earth. It’s 11:30 pm on Christmas Eve. My son sleeps in front of a fire in one of two sleeping bags laid out on the floor. I will shortly join him in the other. Tonight is different than any other night. Because I was taught of Santa as a boy and I learned to act as Santa as an adult, my thoughts are different tonight. Tonight, my thoughts celebrate a Santa Claus whose gifts I cherish above all. I feel closer to Him tonight. Whether it be my frame of mind or a true unseen, unexplained magic, I am certain tonight is different than any other. It happens every year. It’s why I can't ever sleep on the night of December the 24th. Merry Christmas!

And . . . Bah Humbug!