Santa

Actually, I was never going to do the "Santa thing" with David but he picked it up from daycare when he was about three and hasn't let go of it since. That year, the night before Christmas, actually, he excitedly wondered what Santa would bring him the next day. I looked at him... like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. Santa? Santa! I can't quite remember what I did, whether I wrapped an unread book or rewrapped a long-forgotten toy, but I do recall scrambling a bit. Ever since, although I don't talk about Santa, I have continued to give him a small something or other from the jolly old elf.

Just this month however David, quite pointedly, and out of no where, asked me, "Mom, is there really a Santa?" I was taken off guard. True, I had never initiated his belief or ever expounded on the fairy tale but his child-like belief was, I have to admit, somewhat endearing. So when David asked me the question, and after I recovered, I, in turn, looked adoringly (and with a wisp of melancholy) at my little boy, poised at the edge of childhood when magic and wonder are often replaced by cold hard facts, delivered via mocking jeers by in-the-know classmates and I did the only thing I could do. I opened the computer and pulled up, Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus.

Oh, you should have been there. I read it ever so eloquently, pausing just the right number of beats at the most precise moments to add an extra dollop of drama and emphasized critical words and phrases with flourish. Yes, it was a pivotal moment in mommydom. My contribution to David being able to hold on to his child-like wonder for just a moment longer. And at the end of the essay, feeling all wise and toasty inside, I glanced at my curly-haired cherub. Content, I smiled a sweet and knowing half-smile, nodded my head and asked, "Okay?"

He looked at me, "Ummm, yea, Mom, but... IS there a Santa Claus?"