Believing in Christmas

I called my mom the other day. When she answered the phone, I could tell she’d been crying.

My mom is an emotional person. When my dad gave her a KitchenAid mixer for Christmas in the mid-90s, she broke out into heaving sobs.

So I wasn’t too concerned when I asked her what was wrong.

“I was just watching The Polar Express,” she bashfully said.

I stifled my laughs, but told her that was no reason to be sad.

She went on to say how much she loves the movie, and how every year it brings to mind the magic of the season.

“Wouldn’t it be neat,” she said, “if it was all true; if Santa was real.”

I retorted that no, that would not be neat – more so creepy. But the thought brought me back to memories of Christmases past. I was reminded of a time before adulthood took hold and responsibilities grew overwhelming. I was reminded of a magical time when I still believed.

When I was six or seven, I was convinced that I had heard Santa Claus. In the wee hours of that momentous Christmas morning, I imagined the mysterious man marching through my living room.

I heard wrapping paper crinkle as he pulled presents from his rich red velvet bag and stacked them underneath the Christmas tree. And as I strained to hear every bit of the events unfolding in my own home, I heard a clink clank from the glass of milk and a soft thud from a frosted sugar cookie as it was set down on the plate.

And while the prospect of Santa in my living room was unbelievably exciting, it also scared me beyond belief. So instead of fulfilling every child’s dream of standing face-to-face with Father Christmas, I stayed tucked in to bed too terrified to move.

I told everyone that year about my rare experience with Santa Claus. It was proof to the pessimists that he was real.

The magic of Christmas stayed with me for a few years after that. But it wasn’t long before I looked back on that memory and understood that my imagination had just gotten the better of me that night.

These days, it’s nearly impossible to consider the truths we so strongly believed in when we were kids. As an adult, Christmas is just another reason to spend time with family and friends. There are even a few years when the holiday feels like just another day. (Bah! Humbug) 

Every once in a while, though, I do what my mom does when she watches The Polar Express – l let my imagination take me away from my fact-based adult life. I think back to a time when I believed it was all true.