The magic of Santa is real, right? Kids believe. I believe. Do you?
Earlier this month, the bishop of Noto in Sicily decided to tell a gathering of young children there is no Santa.
Antonio Staglianò pulled the pin on this grenade during his speech at the Feast of Saint Nicholas. You may know him as St. Nick, the inspiration for that most generous of elves, Santa Claus.
There are two English interpretations of how Staglianò said this in Italian. Either he said, “Santa Claus is an imaginary character,” or “No, Santa Claus does not exist.” On and on he went.
The Diocese of Noto quickly weighed in with a ho-ho-ho, no-no-no-no response from Staglianò's press secretary, Father Alessandro Paolini. The bishop merely meant to “reflect on the meaning of Christmas and the beautiful traditions that accompany it with greater awareness and regain the beauty of a Christmas now increasingly 'commercial' and 'de-Christianized.' "
Yes, those words mean precisely the same as, “Santa Claus does not exist.”
'Act like you believe in Santa'
Every Christmas season, I talk to little kids about Santa. I’ve done this over the years as a mother of two and now a grandmother of eight, but also as a journalist. I love hearing children’s theories and questions about that jolly fellow. I also like to share these stories with grown-ups who celebrate Christmas but might need a refresher course on how to talk to children about this bit of magic.
As my new friend, 14-year-old Kennedy, recently explained to me, children will take their lead from us. Her advice: “Act like you believe in Santa, because kids look up to you. If a kid sees parents believing in Santa, they are more likely to as well.”
See why I like talking to kids?
One of the concerns children have often shared with me regarding Santa’s visit has to do with architecture: What if their house doesn’t have a chimney?
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Here’s the thing about chimneys. Falling down one? Easy peasy. Climbing back up? Ask anyone over 40 about their knees. No chimney? Santa thanks you.
Another frequent question: Why are there so many Santas out there?
My mom’s answer, which became my answer: Elves. They are Santa’s elves, filling in for Santa so he can rest up for the big day.
Now, granted, screening procedures for these guys can be a bit lax. For example, I know a Santa elf whose voice has been described by journalists as raspy, sandy, hoarse – distinctively his, in other words.
So, every year, this is my advice to this particular elf: “Don’t talk so much when you’re pulling out gifts from Santa’s bag. They’ll recognize you.”
Every year, that elf ignores this. I recall the year grandson Leo walked over to me and said, “Grandma, I think you should know something.” He pointed to Santa bellowing each grandchild’s name. “That man is Grandpa.”
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Another issue: Is Santa ever grumpy? OK, fine, this was my question, but it came after watching the 1964 TV movie “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” I was 7, and shocked when Santa all but mocked baby Rudolph’s red nose and complained to Mrs. Claus about “that silly elf song” his nonunion workers were singing while they toiled.
I couldn’t stop thinking about this, and my parents were not much help. Mom said that Santa was tired, and that maybe I should try being in charge of everybody’s Christmas and see how it feels. Dad just wanted me to stop with the inquiry: “This kid, always with the questions.”
Now I watch this movie with my grandchildren. So far, no one has asked about Santa’s mood, but 6-year-old Milo was very concerned about the residents in the Island of Misfit Toys. I explained that Grandma used to work there, only we called it a newsroom. He stared at me for a while, but it did seem to ease his mind.
Preserving the magic at the mall
Someday, I will tell Milo this story about his mom, when she was just a year older than he is now. I was a newly single mother. We had recently moved out of our house and into an apartment, where the furniture was a hodgepodge of borrowed and new. We had yet to adopt any of our pets, and her brother Andy was away at college.
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So much loss and change for a little girl. Two weeks before Christmas, Caitlin told me she had doubts about Santa. “Everyone knows he’s not for real, Mommy,” she said, but her big blue eyes implored me to prove her wrong.
I could not bear for her to lose that bit of magic. A friend encouraged me to take her to the real Santa, the one with a genuine beard who welcomed thousands of children every December in a mall across town.
That weekend, off we went. Cait was unusually quiet during the drive. I couldn’t stop talking. The mall was packed. We stood in line for a half-hour, slowly making our way up to Santa’s stage. When it was time, I hugged my daughter and said, loudly, “Caitlin, it’s your turn to see Santa!”
Santa – that wonderful man with the real beard and excellent hearing – broke into the biggest smile. “Caitlin!” he bellowed. “Is that you?”
My daughter grabbed my hand. “Mommy,” she whispered, “It’s him!” She ran into Santa’s open arms and for a little while longer, we both believed.
Connie Schultz is a columnist for Paste BN. She is a Pulitzer Prize winner whose novel, "The Daughters of Erietown," is a New York Times bestseller. Reach her at CSchultz@usatoday.com or on Twitter: @ConnieSchultz