I believe in believing…in spirit, heart, and the love of giving. I believe in that old guy with the long white beard and cherry nose that comes down my chimney every 24th of December: not exactly the person, but the idea of giving, the winter holiday spirit.
I can still remember when I was not yet four years old, I told my mom that I did not believe in Santa and knew that he did not exist. My mom replied with “if you do not believe, than you will not receive,” which made me at once believe in him again, or give the appearance of doing so at least. I thought that I was doing the pretending just for the presents because deep down inside I knew that he was not real and nobody ever really came down my chimney. However, when fourth grade came and my mom finally told me the truth about the dear old man that gave me presents, something quite unexpected happened.
It was two months after Christmas, and my mom and I were doing the dishes in the kitchen after breakfast. My dad and brother had left for my brother’s hockey game, so my mom and I were the only ones home. All of the sudden, out of nowhere, she told me that Santa did not exist and although I knew she was right and in the corner of my mind I knew there was no Santa, I was heart broken. I burst into tears and ran to my room. I guess the reason why I was so upset was that no one had actually told me that it was true Santa Claus did not exist and I was leaving out cookies for no one.
Although I know that there is no Santa, I believe in the real spirit of the feeling of Christmastime. I still talk fondly of Santa as if he does exist, even though he is only a fraction of my memory and only an intangible thought floating around in my mind. I will still always listen for the clatter of hooves on my roof and I will still always be able to hear the sleigh bells from The Polar Express. No matter what anyone says, I still believe in believing, in something…no matter what it is, and no matter how unreasonable it sounds.
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