Our friend arrived early today with his little girls. It’s been a hideous year for them & we wanted to spend a wonderful Christmas Day together. The girls were bursting with excitement! Their Dad had presents from Santa; only to be opened once they got to ours! They descended on the wrapping as we said our hellos- John telling them porky pies about that jolly fictional character in red. The girls listened with wonder-waiting eyes; far too excited to notice anything else.
Christmas Day proceeded to become this lovingly controlled chaos until everyone bundled into cars for their journey home. John & I were sitting in the midst of piles of dishes, paper hats, and mutilated crackers when I remembered something from my own childhood.
You know, I used to think grown ups needed to believe in Santa. I recognised Ma’s handwriting on gift tags, I usually was with her when she tried to buy our presents without me noticing, and I saw her wrapping those when she thought we were tucked in bed (well, my sister was to be fair!). But by golly she was so happy telling me how Santa would come, asking me if I wanted to check if he visited us on Christmas eve, & both my parents loved watching us rifle through the stocking “Santa” filled. The grown ups gleefully swapped stories about their kids & Santa. So you see- I thought they needed to believe in a bit of magic. Couldn’t have been a lot of fun looking after everything all year! Thus I used to play along- it made them happy which made my Christmas more merry.
Thinking back to the little ones today and the ocean of social media status updates from all my friends about their kids’ Santa Claus stories I couldn’t help but wonder. Do you reckon they know?! And just like their parents, they too willingly participate in a beautiful game for some memorable Christmas magic?
From the Chatterjee-Woolmans.