Growing up as a young child, my favorite holiday of all time was Christmas. Like many children, the festivities that followed during Christmas were merry and joyful to enjoy. I remember the best part of all was believing in the man in the red suit, or as some would call him, Santa Claus. The old stories of a jolly old man in a red suit, flying his red sleigh through the reins of his mystical reindeer, seemed so appealing and magical to me when I was a kid. I remember reading about tales of Santa Claus having a naughty or nice list for children, and how he would arrive to each of the good children’s homes by climbing on top their roofs and magically sliding into their homes through the chimney. The whole entire aspect of Christmas and Santa Claus was amazing. I recall myself trying to behave extra nice before the season would arrive, just so I could reassure myself that I would make it on the nice list. My parents would even help monitor my progress and even try to encourage me to behave on my best behavior, so that I would guarantee myself a spot on the nice list. And of course, who could forget the most important part of all during Christmas, leaving the milk and cookies for Santa Claus to enjoy while he would put presents under the tree. As a child, I would try to leave a few extra cookies and an extra large glass of milk, just so I could score a few extra points with the jolly old man. I truly believed that Christmas was a magical time and that the mystical figure known as Santa Claus was the one responsible for leaving me presents under my tree.
However, it was not until I was maybe in 3rd or 4th grade? I cannot recall the exact time frame when it was, but I remember it being around sometime when I was in either of those grades, when I came to a harsh and unbelievable conclusion. It was Christmas Eve and I was in bed, feeling good about the year and was feeling confident that I would make it on the nice list and receive the presents that I had wished for. As I was about to fall asleep, I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to put out the milk and cookies for Santa Claus. I immediately got out of bed and went downstairs so I could prepare the cookies and milk. As I was approaching my kitchen, I heard a noise coming from my living room area. The first thing that came to my mind was, “It’s him!” and dashed towards the room. As soon as I arrived, I was in shock, as I saw that it was not the man in the red suit, but instead, my father holding a wrapped gift. I asked him if he saw Santa Claus and my father was speechless. He tried to cover up his deed by trying to appeal to my wishes by saying he had just met Santa Claus and was told to leave my present under the tree. However, at that moment, even though I refused to believe it, I just had a feeling that he was just trying to ease my shock and hope that I would buy his story. I tried to show him that I believed him and told him I was going back to bed. I left the milk and cookies near the chimney and walked towards the stairs. However, I had decided to sneak back towards the living room just to be sure. And at that moment, I saw it, saw my father eating the cookies and drinking the milk, to make it look like Santa Claus came through.
That was when I knew, there was no Santa Claus. My heart sank so deep I just stood there watching my father. Then, it dawned upon me. There was a Santa Claus, only it was the same figure I had imagined from all the stories and folklore. The real Santa Claus were my parents. It was my parents who were responsible for getting me my gifts that I had on my wish list. It was my parents who made sure I was continually behaving well and not being naughty. It was my parents that wrapped the presents and ate the milk and cookies. At that moment, I felt happy again. The Spirit of Christmas came rushing back into my heart. I had a reason to believe in Christmas again. I realized that Christmas was not about getting the presents and Santa Claus, it was so much more. It was about celebrating a joyful and merry event with your loved ones. From that moment on, I continued to believe in Santa Claus even though I knew he was not the man from the stories. To this day, I believe that my Santa Claus is and will always be, my parents.
Of course, at my age I now know that there really is not a man in a red suit, that flies on a mystical sled, and has high-powered flying reindeer. But, I do know that Santa Clauses exist everywhere. They are everyone’s individual parents. They are the ones responsible for making the Spirit of Christmas live on. They bring hope and joy to their children’s lives. Ever since the day I realized what Christmas was about, I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would work hard as an individual, and hopefully someday be able to have a family and provide the same spirit and dedication to my children as my parents did. I now know the true meaning of Christmas Spirit, and hope to be able to continue passing it along.
So in the light and mood of this joyful holiday that is coming up, I hope that you all enjoy yourselves and have a safe and happy Christmas. Remember, the Spirit of Christmas can only prosper through us, so pass it along as much as you can.