When I was in grade school a group of kids were talking about Christmas. I joined in and said how I was looking forward to Santa's visit. They laughed and began teasing me for being so stupid. "There is no such thing as Santa you idiot!" I was shocked and broken hearted. Not sure if this was true or just some cruel joke, I went home and posed the question to my mother. Ah yes, that dreaded question every parent must face. How one answers it makes all the difference in the world.

My mother sat me down and asked me a few questions. "Was Nana real?" Of course my grandmother existed. She used to live right next door to us. I loved her very much and missed her so. "Do you still believe in her?" Of course I did. I knew that somewhere she was watching over me. "Do you believe in Love?" Obviously I did. I was surrounded with it with plenty to go around.  "Do you believe in the magic of Christmas?" There was no question about that. All you had to do was look around. Even people who tended to be grouchy seemed to be jolly during the holidays. There was music, lights, colors, decorations, parties, traditions, and a festive feeling in the air. How could anyone not feel the magic?" Do you believe in giving and doing for others?" Nothing made me happier than making gifts for my family in school and lovingly wrapping them or helping my mother bake cookies and taking them to our cousin and her friends at the nursing home. I'd always ask my mother for some coins to toss in the bucket for the donations outside stores or pick out a gift to go under the tree at church for those who would otherwise go without. It made people smile and THAT was a gift in itself. With that she looked at me and said, "Then he is real."

She went onto explain how he existed long, long ago, and would give gifts to those in need. Although he grew old and died, his legend of kindness lived on. Throughout time people adopted his traditions and every country found a way to make them their own. That in itself, the spreading of this one man's acts throughout the world was magic in itself. She then told me that, like my grandmother, his spirit lives on and is a part of why Christmas is so special. His love becomes a part of everyone, bringing the joy and desire to give and share. This was something I could accept and treasured. Although no longer in body, Santa was still alive in the most important place - my heart. He was the "spirit of Christmas". I passed this story down to my children when they approached me with that question. For me though, it was not so dreadful, knowing I had the key to keeping the magic alive.