Running with Scissors

Sara Peterson-Davis has worked as a newspaper researcher and reporter, as well as a communications director and consultant. She and her husband, Monty Davis, can be found in Liberty, Mo., keeping their two children from running with scissors. Contact Sara

Twas the Night

by Sara Peterson-Davis

I never saw it coming.

I was sitting at the dining room table absently watching a documentary on the commercialization of Christmas while filling out school forms, trying to make out the dialogue over the drone of the dishwasher.

Just as the dishwasher took a break from sloshing, some guy came on the screen casting a shadow of doubt on the existence of Santa Claus. Now this wouldn’t have been a problem if I were alone at the time. Unfortunately my nine-year-old daughter, Brynne, had slipped into the room and was standing beside my chair.

“Well, that explains a lot!” she breezily announced.

“About what?” I jumped a little feigning ignorance.

“You know, the whole Santa thing.”

Wow, I had literally been blindsided. And since I’ve never been particularly good at lying in a pinch, I just came clean. We talked for a while about the whole “Santa thing.” I thought she took the news well. We even laughed a little.

Later, I nearly broke my arm patting myself on the back for handling the situation with such finesse. The birds and the bees would surely be a breeze. If only I had cracked my radius, because it wouldn’t have hurt half as much as what happened next.

It was bedtime. Showers were taken, pajamas were on, teeth were brushed and I was making my last wipe down of the kitchen when I heard a little sound behind me. I looked and there was Brynne sitting on the kitchen floor, her head in her hands with the first of what would be a bucketful of tears dripping on to her knees.

“What’s wrong,” I asked, thinking the tears had something to do with the end of summer. “Are you worried about school?”

“It’s not school,” Brynne sobbed. “It’s Santa.”

“What about Santa, sweetheart?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“Now I don’t have anything to look forward to at Christmas!” she replied with a sob. “Can’t we still pretend there’s a Santa Claus?”

The conversation went from sad to worse as I tried to console my little girl. It was only after a fair amount of babbling on my part, that we were able to go to bed and get some sleep.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not sure which, the subject has not come up again.

Now a week later, I think I can put into to words what I wanted to say that night. So here goes.

Dear Brynne,

Santa Claus will always visit our house at Christmas. Not for pretend, but for real.

One of the saddest things I hear each year is that Christmas is just for kids. It’s usually said by grown ups who think the only people foolish enough to believe in a spirit that gives gifts unconditionally would have to be crazy or a silly little child. They’ve been out in the “real world” and that’s not the way things work.

Call us crazy because, I think, we know different. Christmas is for everyone. The gifts of the season, just like God’s love, were meant for everyone, whether they are small or big, young or old, poor or rich, bad or good.

One of the greatest joys for dad and me is keeping Santa real in our home for you and your brother. The Prayer of St. Francis says, “It is in giving that we receive.” And while you might not believe it yet, you’ll learn some day that getting gifts from Santa isn’t nearly as fun as giving them in his spirit.

So, around our house we won’t pretend that Santa Claus is coming because he’ll already be there with us all throughout the season as we give to those we love and to those in need.

I’m sorry you were so disappointed to learn that the “Santa thing” wasn’t exactly what you’d been led to believe. But I think you’ll find there is much more to look forward to.

Love you always,

Mom

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