On Being Childlike

I don’t remember when I first noticed Christmas; it was always a part of my life. We were not a religious family; the holiday was about something I can’t quite put my finger on. One day a year, we came together as a family in a meaningful way.

Along with a beautifully decorated tree, as well as a children’s tree with toy ornaments, there were handmade stockings, mistletoe, wreaths, candles with fancy holders, a festive apron my mother wore when she cooked special foods; and of course Santa Claus. There was nothing visual around our house that indicated his presence, but he was there. To me, Santa was a figure who noticed us children. He was “ours.”

Santa Claus made it clear that according to him, we were the important ones in the world. Of course many of us were fortunate to feel that from our parents, but our parents were busy people. Santa’s whole focus, all year round, was on us. I remember putting cookies out for him on Christmas Eve and looking at our fireplace feeling worried, wondering if he would make it down our chimney — it seemed to be impossible. But worries like that were a part of it all. Reality took a holiday for the month of December; school wasn’t important, the spirit of Santa was.

Coming downstairs on Christmas morning, the packages around the tree that had materialized overnight were filled with promise. I don’t remember any gifts being labeled except for the ones that said, “love, Santa.”

The presents that were for you were placed in your lap, and when you opened them and saw what was inside, what you felt was this: someone knew you. Someone made it clear that you were indeed special, because what was inside the package was an item that you had always wanted. Or even if something you didn’t know you wanted, when you saw it, you knew your life was even more your own.

Now I have my own family, consisting of a husband and two daughters and, at different times, a menagerie of pets. My husband is unique : at dinner parties, given a choice, he always prefers to hang out with the children, to “sit at the kids table.” He collects toys. My husband loves nothing better than to eat milkshakes for lunch, ice cream for dinner. He can spend an entire day just hanging out with our cat. And he believes in Santa Claus. These are some of the reasons I married him.

When my husband and I started our family, there were always decisions to be made about how to raise our daughters. Like our parents before us, we welcomed Santa into our home. We shared the story of Saint Nicholas with them, and they always find gifts under the tree from Santa, with love. And we leave cookies out on Christmas eve — securely out of reach from the dog.

Most importantly, we come together to share our love for each other, our closeness. That somehow, magically, we know what would make each other happy. The gift-giving and storytelling foster a belief that the world is a better place when we share and when we hope — and that the world would be a better place if, like they are for Santa Claus, children were our focus too. Or, better yet, if we embodied their spirit.

The #SantaProject is a movement to keep the story of Santa Claus alive on the Internet. Join by responding with your own story about the magic of belief. To learn more about the #SantaProject, visit macys.com/believe.