The Santa Claus myth is ridiculous—an overweight white dude in a red and white suit living in the North Pole, with gifts built by elves and flying reindeer pulling his sleigh as he delivers presents to billions in one night.  Nonsense.

As a young child, though, I believed.  I remember having my doubts, but I loved the story.  When my mother took my brother, sister, and me to our first Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City, and Santa rode by on his float waving to all the children, I remember feeling concerned.  It was getting close to Christmas—shouldn’t he be up in the North Pole making toys?  My mother wisely explained, “There are many Santa Clauses.”

Though I didn’t understand, I accepted it, just like I accepted other questionable things.  For example, our apartment didn’t have a chimney, but we still managed to get presents.  My mom said we left the door unlocked, so that wouldn’t be a problem.

I don’t remember how old I was when the myth came crashing down, but I remember how it went down.  I already knew reindeer couldn’t fly.  I was old enough to know it wasn’t possible for someone to fly around the world in a day and go to every single house.  Heck, I even questioned whether Santa could deliver toys to just my neighborhood in one night.  But of course—there are many Santa Clauses!

Then one summer, while playing outside in the street with several friends and my Irish twin brother, the subject of Santa Claus came up.  There were a few older adolescent children, and one of them started asking who “still” believed in Santa Claus.  I was the only one with the courage to say I believed.  To my shock and horror, even my brother said he didn’t believe.  I thought he was a coward for just going along with the group.  I kept feeling that way, even after he reluctantly and condescendingly tried to explain it to me.  Thinking back, it was probably because my mother had asked him not to say anything, and he was torn between being honest with me and not disappointing our mom.  When I refused to listen, he just said, “Go ask Mom.”  So I did.

I went upstairs and asked my mother if there were such a thing as Santa Claus.  She asked me if I believed. She asked if I wanted to believe.  She told me I could believe, regardless of what anyone said.  But that wasn’t good enough.  I felt betrayed as the curtain was lifted.  I saw how foolish I had been—and in front of what felt like the entire neighborhood!

Then, as if that weren’t bad enough, she insisted I continue this lie with my sister, who is three years younger.  I could not believe it!  My mom, who never tolerated lying, was asking me to lie about this?  Many beliefs were crushed that day.

As it turned out, I kind of enjoyed deceiving other children.  I quickly adapted to the world of non-believers and had no problem keeping up the ruse with my sister and some of my younger cousins.  I knew something they didn’t.  I’d moved into the adult world—the real world.  No more make-believe.

Yet now that I’m older, things have changed again.  Over time, I’ve relearned that Santa Claus does exist, and my mother was absolutely correct: there are many Santa Clauses.  Just like God is not some old guy in the clouds, holding his staff and monitoring the thoughts and actions of every living creature, Santa Claus is not some overweight guy riding a supersonic sled.  God transcends human understanding, yet He is a spirit in our soul and the source of love, wisdom, and creation.  Santa Claus is also a spirit—of giving and love.

I know a spiritual aura settles on the world, takes over the planet, and engulfs the hearts of people everywhere during this time of year, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”  During this season, people everywhere hunger to fulfill their desire to give something special to the people they love.  This proves the existence of a Santa Claus spirit.

But it’s more than just spiritual—it’s tangible, and exists in the physical world.  I know for a fact Santa Claus exists because I exist, and I am Santa Claus.  My mother was Santa Claus.  And it’s very likely, so are you.

Merry Christmas to all the Santa Clauses out there.  May the spirit of love and giving fill your hearts—and may the joy you bring to others bless you in return.

Charlie Rose recently retired after working over 30 years as a civilian for the United States Army.

Image: Free image, Pixabay license.