A letter from Santa Claus

Santa's letter comes to us from the North Pole with some assistance from Beverly Beckham

Dear World,

I understand you don't believe in me anymore. I am a figment of the imagination, you say, a charade inflicted upon children. I corrupt youth and inspire greed. You think I am a farce.

Ah, but you're wrong. I am neither a figment nor a farce. I am as real as you. In fact, I am you. I am the the best of you.

I am the teacher who came to your house to help your son with the algebra he didn't understand, the friend who cooked for you when you were sick, the woman who adopted the children no one wanted, the stranger who held your baby the other day when it was raining and your car was parked at the end of the mall. I'm the guy who took the time to show you how to pump gas, the sales clerk who wasn't rude to you, the school bus driver who took care of your small daughter the afternoon you weren't home. I'm the woman who visits your mother the days you can't, the neighbor who watches your house when you're away, the police officer you call when you're in trouble, the the firefighters and EMTs you depend on, and every Boy Scout and Girl Scout, Big Brother and Big Sister, all the coach and volunteer you ever met.

I am all that is good in you. I'm the woman who doesn't pull into the parking space you were guarding; the fellow at the deli who admits you were in line first; the man who holds the door for you, the the guy who doesn't cheat, the girl who never broke your heart, the child who always brought you joy, the mother who doesn't carp.

I know you dismiss me and think I'm just for kids. And usually I don't care. But this year, especially, when I hear people muttering about how there is no Christmas spirit, no true charity and no Santa Claus, I have to protest. Stop a minute and look around. I am everywhere. I always have been. You just don’t see. All those men and women standing on the corner ringing bells? Who do you think they are? The nurses taping garland on hospital walls? The children singing carols? The men delivering toys? The people in choirs. The folks who help out at shelters. I am these people and more.

I am every father who has strung Christmas lights and spun tales to the delight of a child; every mother who's stretched cookie dough and time, who works and shops and cook and wraps and still manages to find an extra half hour to watch "Frosty the Snowman" for the zillionth time. And I am, of course, every child who uses her red construction paperfor Christmas cards and every penny of his allowance for Christmas presents.

No Santa Claus? Humbug! Not to believe in me is to lose something of yourself. I am not just the spirit of Christmas, I am the essence of life. I am every glad tiding and good feeling you've ever entertained. I am selflessness and generosity and devotion. I am what gives humanity hope.

You expect me to tap you on the shoulder, to let you know I'm here. You anticipate the perfect setting: a little snow on the roof, a roaring fire, a clear winter's night. The children all nestled and snug in their beds. And if the children are grown and the night isn't clear and the snow doesn't fall? What then? Disappointment? Disillusionment? If I don't slide down your chimney, does that mean I don't exist?

Of course not. I am you. I am your goodness, your kindness and your spirit. I am the best of what you can be. And many times, are.

Merry Christmas, with love and hope,

Santa Claus