One late night, I began discussing Frankenstein with one of my roommates. With no mention of Santa at all, I wondered why Dr. Frankenstein would care so much about letting the monster he created kill his loved ones. I had to question, “What was he really missing?” He didn’t care about the gifts he could have gotten if he lived his life differently, so what is the point of feeling so unworthy? I felt empty inside with the thought of no Santa. Santa was my hope. Life was so unforgiving. When my life got difficult, I had to believe there was something better than this. Perhaps the evils of college had led me away. Was I not being nice enough? I had heard that one bout of naughtiness could affect all areas of my life. Could it be true? Did I push Santa away?
Of course Santa was everywhere: parades, the mall, squeezing into those small chimneys. From what I learned from tradition, he even watched me sleep. Bu I did not feel Santa’s presence in my life anymore; it was as if the Christmas spirit had been taken from my body. Was my whole life a lie? The celebrations, the music, the rituals, the movies – were they all just brainwashing tools? I looked for Santa everywhere. I dug deeper into the holiday festivities. Yet I couldn’t find him. I knew belief was more than a feeling, but when I wrote my Christmas letters, I felt like I was sending them to a no one.
When I looked for him, I just found more reasons not believe. Of course science can’t always fit into a nicely wrapped gift box, but nothing was proving Santa’s existence or non-existence. Yes, I had sat on his lap many a time, but that wasn’t Santa Santa. That was a representation of Santa. I wanted to believe so badly. Others would scrutinize me in my need for answers, calling me a Scrooge and telling me that I wanted him to not exist. I would shoot down their reasons. Faith is just a catch-all for the many things they couldn’t explain. Why does Santa have to have so many names? In school, my philosophy and psychology classes were completely debunking Santa. What do you mean, my parents bring the presents? I don’t have a conscience? My joys and all my emotions just came from chemicals in my brain?
Article comments
1 - Christy Corp-Minamiji
This is great, Emily. What a timely take on the importance of hope and belief (in anything)!
2 - Elizabeth Brock
Santa is real, and there is no doubt about it. He may not be a jolly fat man who directs elves, drives a sleigh, and squeezes down chimneys, he is, however, very real. Santa is in everyone. He is generosity, kindness, and goodness. Just as when you are "good" and Santa brings gifts, when a person chooses to be "good" or perform a nice act, it is returned upon them in some way or another. It can come in many forms, a present under the tree, a helping hand when needed, even the good feeling you are left with. So I say, Emily, Santa is real. With all of the commercialization and the world becoming a harsher place, I think many people have forgotten this. The world would be better if they could remember.
3 - One Santa
Oh, nice piece Emily. The spirit of Santa is the spirit that keeps humanity together. Give because you care of how others feel. Santa Claus is real. He exists... but there is not only one Santa Claus... but many of them. A secret society of Santa Claus where people you meet every day on the street can be a secret Santa. Your neigbor, your colleague, your parents and people you would never expect are Santa Claus in secret. And this keeps the world going.