The magic of Christmas has enveloped me. Last night we went driving around town looking at the Christmas lights. I was taken back to my childhood days as my eyes danced in the twinkle of each bulb.
We saw adorable penguins, elves, reindeer, and moose. We admired incredibly unique décor, especially the hockey player Santa who was made complete with a Maple Leaf jersey. We saw another Santa who was on a camouflage motorbike, and, finally, we saw the one that made me tear up – the one that had a beautiful white-lighted Eiffel Tower.
Then the chorus of questions poured in like a hot cup of insatiable curiosity. It took me back to when I was a child; I remembered all the inquisitive questions that I bombarded my mom with every year.
"Will Santa bring me my Bat Cave?"
"Does Santa like cookies or muffins?"
"Will he wake me up when he gets here so we can play with his reindeer?"
He is wise but vulnerable to the truth – a 7-year-old with autism.
"How will Santa come to our house if we don't have a chimney?"
"How will he walk through the front door and not set off the alarm?"
And the last one I'm hearing more and more of this year...
"Is Santa really real, or is it just you and Dad?"
I think back to what my Mom said all those years ago and it's the same thing that I tell my sons:
"Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.” -Editorial from the New York Sun, September 21, 1897
Merry Christmas blessings to all of you – from our house to yours.