It's Christmas.
No, I don't want to think about it yet. We haven't even gotten through Thanksgiving yet. I refuse - REFUSE, I tell you - to get the tree up or pull my Dickens village houses out before Nov. 29. I did break down and hang some jingle bells on the front door. I probably have broken my own rules just with that one smooth move.
It's hard. So, so hard.
I mean, when Santa Claus is your dad, it's difficult to not want that tree up and decorated by Independence Day. When you call home and are met with, "Ho, Ho, Ho! Hi, honey, how are the girls?" it makes it really difficult not to get giddy and say something absurd like, "Working hard to stay on the Nice List."
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| "He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot ..." |
Little known fact for most: My father grew up in Albion, NY, the birthplace of the Charles W. Howard Santa Claus School. Never heard of it? Don't feel bad; a lot of people I tell this story to have no idea where Albion is. Or that there's really a school for Santa Claus.
But I know the magic is real. And, yes, I may be an adult, but that doesn't mean I've stopped believing in the tales of the jolly elf who steals into our homes to leave gifts. Every Christmas Eve I still read "The Night Before Christmas" ... to my kids. I swear, I read it to them. Now. Shut up. I like books. Who cares if I can recite most of the story from memory.
Back to my tale.
From the time I was little, I knew the kind of joy Christmastime brought my dad. He would get a twinkle in his eye (OK, maybe it was unshed tears - he gets very emotional around the holidays) and we all knew his Christmas wish was to know what happened to Charlie's beloved school for elves.
I really think, out of everything the man could want every single Christmas of my youth, and then more so into my and my sister's adulthood and Dad's retirement, his wish was to find out what happened. Proficient in computers, he is not. But others are.
My mom found it. She located the school and contacted the owners and ... magic.
On Josephine's first birthday, after she opened her gifts and ate her cake, we celebrated my dad's birthday, which is just three days later. His gifts included a Santa Claus hat and a bottle of Santa's Secret wine from one of our favorite wineries, and as he laughed at the silliness of Christmas themed gifts in the middle of June, we watched his face go from jolly to shocked to stunned to blissful and wistful and full of memories of his childhood.
His arms just sort of dropped to the side when he opened the envelope with a certificate I'd drawn up for him, welcoming him to Santa Claus School with the dates he was to report for training. It was like watching a AAA ball player get called up to the majors, and he wasn't expecting it and had no idea he was worth that much to the league.
The first year he attended, I was strictly forbidden to go into labor. I was 37 weeks pregnant with Charlotte when Mom and Dad went to Michigan that first time. And she held out for her Paw to be back this side of the state line (plus a couple extra weeks) before she made her appearance.
As an alum of the famed school, my dad has been able to essentially live his dream and the magic of the season is in him throughout the year. He has the beard (it's real; he hasn't been clean shaven since I was 3 years old) and, though he had a suit my mom made him, he's since purchased two more. Santa is busy this time of year, and when his mentor, Santa Ken, has overflow, Santa Rich gets even busier.
I won't fight for my dad's attention from about the middle of November until Dec. 24. I'm totally cool with sharing him with little boys and little girls who still believe and their parents who are trying really, really hard to find the magic of the season they may remember from their youth. Some of them ... well, some of them may be trying to create the youth they never had - the magic no one let them believe in - so their children can believe. I share him and I do it willingly because everyone deserves to know Santa does exist.
I honestly don't know if I'll be able to wait another week to get the tree out. This new house ... it's big enough to keep it up all year. I won't, but how magical could life be if we did? How blessed would we feel to wake up every morning to Christmas, even if there were no presents under the tree?
After all, it's not about the presents.
It's about the presence of others, the love we share, being grateful for one another.
It's the magic of being together.
"To say there is no Santa Claus is the most erroneous statement in the world. Santa Claus is a thought that is passed from generation to generation. After time this thought takes on a human form. Maybe if all children and adults understand the symbolism of this thought we can actually attain Peace on Earth and good will to men everywhere."
- Charles W. Howard
<3 <3 <3
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