Another Santa Claus Story

“…and to all a good night. The end.” Sophie’s father closed the book with a satisfied smile and looked down into the eyes of his daughter. Sophie was snuggled into her bed, wearing her princess pajamas, underneath her soft pink “Barbie” comforter.

Sophie’s father waited for his little girl to yawn and to ask for her good night kiss. It was Christmas Eve after all and most little girls were anxious to get to sleep so that they can get to morning and the joy of discovering what lies beneath the glittering Christmas tree downstairs. But, instead, she sat up with an inquisitive look on her face and asked, “And then what happened?”

Sophie’s father was caught off-guard by the question (though, knowing his little girl as he did, it was not a question that should have come as a complete surprise.) “Well,” he began hesitantly, “nothing happens…that was the end of the story.”

Sophie narrowed one eye and cocked her head to one side. “So Santa Claus came down the chimney into that little boy’s house and left presents and ate cookies and talked with the little boy and then he left? That’s the whole story?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Daddy,” Sophie said patiently, “that story just doesn’t make sense. How could somebody as fat as Santa Claus fit down somebody’s chimney carrying a big bag of toys? And how did he know what toys the little boy wanted? And how did he get back up the chimney? And suppose there isn’t a chimney, how does he get into the house then?” She took a deep breath and then looked up and waited for his answers.

Sophie’s father didn’t know what to say at first. Sophie’s mother had told him that all little girls and little boys took the story at face value and so he wasn’t prepared with any answers. He smiled nervously and softly said, “…um…magic?”

Sophie, a sophisticated 4-year-old who was sure that she already knew a thing or two about the way the world really worked, rolled her eyes and sighed. “Daddy…” she said with undisguised exasperation. “Mommy said that there’s not really any such thing as magic…and that if you said that there was you’d have to come up with a better story…”

Sophie’s father smiled ruefully. He had been set up. Sophie’s mother had set a trap for him…payback for having so often a way out of having to read stories at Sophie’s bedtime. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, sweetheart…”

“Tell me the real story of Santa Claus,” Sophie responded without hesitation.

“Mommy told you to say that, didn’t she?”

Sophie nodded affirmatively. “Yes. She said that you knew the real story about Santa and that you only told it to good little girls and boys.” She paused with a slight frown on her face. “Well, I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?”

“Yes, baby girl, you certainly have.” Sophie’s father’s mind was racing a mile a minute. The “real story about Santa”…without magic? He let out a long breath and looked into the expectant eyes of his only child. “Okay,” he began, “here’s the real story…”

Sophie’s father took another deep breath. “What most little girls don’t know is that there isn’t just one Santa Claus,” he said. “There are in fact hundreds of Santa Clauses…thousands of them…maybe millions of them. And none of them really live at the North Pole…”

“Of course not, it’s way too cold up there,” Sophie offered.

“Exactly!” Sophie’s father said, gently coaxing a giggle out of Sophie by tweaking her nose ever so softly. “And even though he usually wears a big thick coat, Santa doesn’t necessarily like cold weather.” He paused again to gather his thoughts and then he continued, “he does, however, really like cookies and milk on Christmas Eve night.”

“Is that why he’s so fat?” Sophie asked, snuggling back down onto her pillow.

“Well, to be honest, honey…Santa isn’t always fat…sometimes he’s short…sometimes he’s tall…sometimes he’s fat and jolly…sometimes he’s skinny…and jolly…Sometimes Santa’s white and sometimes he’s black or Latin or Asian or…”

He paused yet again and then smiled with a twinkle glinting in his eyes. “…or sometimes…just sometimes…he’s not a “he” at all…”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Santa Claus can be a lady?” she asked incredulously. “Like Mommy?”

Sophie’s father glanced over his shoulder catching a fleeting glimpse of Sophie’s mother secretly listening to the stories. “Yes,” he replied with a quiet grin, “exactly like Mommy.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow…” Sophie’s father smiled and continued, “Santa Claus, it turns out, is not so much a person as he is a wonderful, thrilling idea…a warm ray of love and light that lives in the heart of anyone who cares enough to let him…or her…into their hearts…”

“What about all of the guys in the stores and on TV?”

“Deputies,” Sophie’s father quickly responded, his imagination working overtime. “Some people need to see something to believe it so there are Santa Clauses in red suits just to make those people happy.”

That answer suited Sophie and she nodded approvingly. “Well, that makes sense…my friend Amanda likes to see stuff before she believes it so it’s a good thing that there are Deputy Santa Clauses for her to see and believe.”

Sophie’s father took a second to ponder Sophie’s statement and then he nodded. “Right.”

“And all of the Santa Clauses and Deputy Santa Clauses are the ones who bring the presents?” Sophie asked.

Sophie’s father smiled again. “Yes, Sophie girl,” he said, “and they sing the Christmas songs…and share the Christmas prayers…and dream the Christmas dreams…”

“…and eat the Christmas cookies and milk…”

Sophie’s father laughed boisterously. “Yes…and eat the Christmas cookies and milk…”

Sophie yawned. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said as sleep tugged at her eyelids.

Sophie’s father tucked the comforter around his daughter and bent down and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart. Good night.”

“Good night, Daddy,” Sophie said, closing her eyes and turning onto her side.

Sophie’s father rose and went to the door. He turned off the light and started to leave. But before he could leave, Sophie sat lifted her head up. “But what about the reindeer and the elves and all of that stuff, what part of Christmas is that supposed to be?” she asked

“The magical part,” Sophie’s father said with a smile and a wink. “Okay?”

Sophie smiled warmly and winked back. “Okay.” She snuggled back into her pillow and let herself drift into a restful Christmas Eve slumber.