I mostly didn't believe in Santa when I was little. Although, there was one moment, right around Christmas, when I was 6, with my cousin Richard, helping feed a neighbor's cat one evening-- for two seconds I believed, in the darkness of the front garden, that a jingle sleigh was up among the stars.
Santa: What is your name?
Richard would get excited and terrified about most things. He would plant these ideas in my head, like maybe there were great white sharks swimming in the Berkeley bay. And I would know they were ridiculous, until 3am when wide awake I'd start to wonder.
Now with Violet, I watch her watching and wondering about things, like Santa. We hadn't really talked much about Santa. I was always slightly petrified of the mall Santas when I was a kid, and so I've never felt the need to make her sit on Santa's lap and [even more scary] talk to him if she wasn't up for it.
But something funny happened.
A couple days after Thanksgiving, we went to this rinky-dinky craft sale on the island put on by the senior center. Well, there was a Santa there (sort of a 1970's version of one, that looked like he was sitting in someone's living room, with a 13 year old kid taking blurry photos on an ancient camera), and what does my shy little girl do? My girl who is usually too shy to even look at the grocery clerks in the super market walked right up to this Santa, climbed up on his lap, and told him very clearly what she wanted for Christmas.
Santa: What is your name?
Violet: My name is Violet.
Santa: And have you been a good little girl this year, Violet?
Violet: Yes, I have.
Santa: Oh good. What would you like for Christmas this year?
Violet: Santa, I would like a Candy Cane.
Santa: Is that all?
Violet: Yes.
Santa (who quite possibly was the real thing) then made her Christmas wish come true that very moment and handed her a candy cane.
Her little soul lit up like a roman candle. Welcome, Santa. You are in my child's heart, and possibly for the first time since I was six, you are in mine too.
