Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

It’s Jimmy.  I guess its been the better part of 25 years since the last time I wrote to you but after my sister broke the news to me that it was our parents who arranged Christmas (I also have on good authority, it was my father who gobbled down the cookies and room temperature milk I thought I was leaving for you too), I felt betrayed.  Don’t feel too bad, I know it wasn’t your fault. If it makes you feel better, she told me about the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and where dogs really go when they go to a “farm” too. Needless to say, the news led me to stop itemizing merchandise I meticulously chose from the JC Penny Christmas catalog in my “I’ve been a good boy” letter to you. So why write to you now?  Twenty five years later?  Well it’s not to tell you I’ve been a good boy (but I have).  I’m writing to let you know I believe again.  I believe again because of my kids (although I’m still not buying the Easter Bunny).

I’m pretty sure you know them, each has been sending you a letter since they were old enough to understand the whole concept of Christmas and not be weirded out about the whole “sees you when you’re sleeping thing”.

When my girls sit down at the table to transcribe the list of toys their good behavior has afforded them the opportunity to ask for, I see something in their eyes that I haven’t seen for more than 25 years. I don’t know how to describe it other than, to my girls, flying on that sleigh of yours and doing what you do is as easy to believe in as the sun rising in the morning. Ok, that and since we don’t have a chimney for you to shimmy down and the girls were afraid you wouldn’t be able to get in, it takes leaving you a key under the Welcome mat on the front porch. But that’s all.

My point here Santa is, for a long time, even with all the decorations, Christmas cheer, fighting in department store lines, and time off of work, there was still something missing from the season that I couldn’t put my finger on.  But thanks to my kids, I figured out what, or more specifically ‘who’, it was that was missing.  My kids’ anticipation for Christmas morning is contagious. I can’t help but feel their enthusiasm as they work on their dissertations proving they really were good for the past 12 months to deserve a list of toys longer than the federal tax code.  We all look forward to finding out, with nervous excitement, how you liked what we left for you and the reindeer as a snack (You can expect some coffee this year, I know you’ll need it. Creamer is in the fridge, help yourself).

Anyway, its good to have you back big guy. With you, Christmas seems right again. And if I may, since my kids are the reason for all of this, let me put a voucher in for them.  They have been good kids. They have been the best kids a father could hope for.  In fact, you should be seeing their letters soon.  They’ll be the ones broken down in to chapters, appendices, and reference pages. I know you’ll do whatever you can to make their Christmas morning one they won’t forget.  Take care Santa.  See you soon.

Your friend,


P.S.-The key will be under the Welcome mat for you.


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