Must There Be a Santa?

There comes a time when…you don’t believe.

It happens to everyone. For some it’s at the very beginning. They never even get the chance; someone made the decision for them. For most it’s later. They think they grow too old, too smart, or simply outgrow the idea.

And I’m not talking about Santa.

So what’s the need for Santa?

Marty was at that point. Santa was presents, of course, he was the very symbol of the holiday, he was the jolly fat man with the reindeer and the impossible task of visiting…everyone, on a single night. But never caught in the act. That was one of the central tenets. If you saw him it was your dad, your mom. Or some guy at the mall, ringing a bell. The real Santa?

That was an act of belief. That was how Marty understood it. Until he didn’t. He started making his own lists, the way these things go, and gradually realized the gifts he found under the tree…didn’t match. So it was your basic disappointment.

This year was going to be different. He’d been obsessing about it all year. It was the running dialogue in his head, the thing he told no one about. Santa wasn’t something you talked about with friends anyway. He wasn’t even something you talked about with mom and dad, not after those first few years, anyway.

No, he was a private matter, something you thought about late at night. Well, if you were Marty, anyway.

For Marty it was a kind of torture. He didn’t need Santa to know there would be presents under the tree. He needed Santa for…What? That was the crucial question.

He was old enough to know what Christmas was all about. He’d seen a few versions of the Dickens story at this point. Good will toward men. Whatever that meant. Being…happy.

But Marty wasn’t happy. He needed to figure out Santa.

If you take away the proposition that Santa exists to deliver presents, what does that leave? Must there be a Santa?

His dad must’ve heard him stirring, because he stuck his head in Marty’s room. Marty pretended to be asleep, but his dad knew.

“Hey, kid,” his dad said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried,” Marty said.

“Oh, I’m not talking about gifts,” his dad said.

“I know,” Marty said.

“So what it?” his dad said.

“I don’t understand Santa Claus,” Marty said. “What’s the point?”

“Well, you know the story,” his dad said. “Saint Nick.”

“Yeah,” Marty said.

“Then you know what Santa is about,” his dad said.

“Well, no,” Marty said.

“Okay,” his dad said. “Not so easy. Okay. Let’s see. You want to know why bother with him. Why you ever needed to believe. Well. That’s…that’s a big one. Sure you don’t want to sleep on it?”

“Sure,” Marty said.

“Sure you don’t want Mom to handle this one?” his dad said.

“If she needs to,” Marty said.

“No!” his dad said. “I mean, it’s okay! I can handle this…He’s kind of the spirit…You know what that is, right?”

“Yeah,” Marty said.

“He’s the spirit of the thing,” his dad said. “Not like…a mascot. Angel. He’s like an angel. Hark! And all that…Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Maybe?” Marty said.

“Saint Nick,” his dad said, “And then…Well, Christmas as we know it is kind of…a pretty recent invention, really. We imagine Santa to be very old, but in…ah…relative terms? He’s actually quite young. But that would be…weird. A young Santa would be weird, but kind of cool, if you thought about it…No, he looks the way we imagine him to look. He’s not an idea…Don’t get me wrong.”

“He could be an idea,” Marty said.

“Sure,” his dad said, “but he’s not. Some ideas are too real to be imaginary. You know what? Never mind, that’s…a little much. What I mean is, he’s the version of the story that makes the most sense to us, so that’s…that’s why he exists. Maybe in another hundred, two hundred years there’ll be a different need, and…Santa will get to relax…Now? He makes his visits…to bless us. You know, like the Ghost of Christmas Present. That’s…ah, the real gift. Not what’s under the tree. Do you understand?”

“I guess,” Marty said.

“Listen,” his dad says, “give me a hug.”

“Sure,” Marty said.

It took him forever to fall asleep. But he wasn’t anxious. He thought maybe he really had understood.