from a tiny spark

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

“I’ll string the stars across your sky…” Taken on December 14th, 2008

It’s been quite a while since I truly believed that a jolly man in a red suit came barreling down our chimney on Christmas Eve with a sack full of presents for my brother and me.  I still remember the moment I really found out - straight from my mother - when it wasn’t so.  I remember where I was standing and how I couldn’t breathe when the “truth” left her lips.  I cried so hard that day.  And that year, under the Christmas tree early on Christmas morning was a stuffed bear dressed in a Santa suit with a tag around his neck that read: Always Believe. It was a bittersweet present, but I promised myself I would keep my little brother safe from the spoilers in the world as long as I could.

Unfortunately, not too many years later, there sat another Santa-clad teddy under the tree come Christmas morning with the same message around his neck, and I knew… there wasn’t any more magic in our house anymore.

My little sister has been on the verge of discovering the “truth” the past few years.  I keep holding my breath for the moment when it finally comes out and the magic leaves the house once again.  Tonight I came home and there were piles of wrapped Christmas presents tucked under the tree in the living room.  Mom said to me, “Look at all the wrapping Kayla and I did today!”  I looked at her quizzically, because it looked to me that most of our presents were already under the tree, which meant - what would Santa bring on Christmas morning?  Kayla smiled excitedly and explained how mom and her would have to let us know who the presents were “really from” when we open them, because “a lot of them say from: santa on them, but they’re not really.”  After she went off to play in the other room, I whispered to my mother, “…What’s going on?  Is Santa coming or is he not?”

Apparently Kayla asked my mother about Santa and how real he really was last night… and my mother dodged the question quite creatively.  She handed Kayla an issue of The New York Sun newspaper, which states the headline: Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus. Above it in small print it explains “This is the famous letter from Virginia O’Hanlon to the editor of The New York Sun, first printed in 1897.”  I personally had never actually read the original letter - or it’s reply - before… and I have to say it brought tears to my eyes and warmed my heart.  For any of who you have not read it, I will share.  Because honestly, I will always be a little kid at heart at Christmastime, and I believe I am a better person for it.  I think we all need to remember this article.

And for those curious as to Kayla’s response… She didn’t really have one.  As my mother put it, she wants to believe.  She asks the questions to see how we’ll respond, but she truly wants to believe… like me.  And so, my mother refuses to be the one to come out and say “No, Santa Claus does not exist,” because really - who is she to say?

Without further ado, the famous article.

Dear Editor,
I am 8 years old.  Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.  Papa says, “If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.”  Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
- Virginia O’Hanlon

Virginia, your little friends are wrong.  They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age.  They do not believe except they see.  They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds.  All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little.  In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy.  Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus!  It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.  There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.  We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight.  The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus!  You might as well not believe in fairies.  You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove?  Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.  The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see.

Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there.  Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart.  Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond.  Is it all real?  Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus!  Thank God! he lives and lives forever.  A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Oh, and according to my mother, there will be another teddy under the tree this year, reminding Kayla to “always believe.”

Originally published at constant-casualty.net. You can comment here or there.

I came across my leather-bound journal while searching for stray Benadryl pills the other night in my night stand drawer.  If I had a nickel for every journal I have half-filled with entries, and then tossed aside - forgotten, I’d have… well, probably less than a dollar.  But definitely more than twenty five cents.

Curious, I opened it up and read the only two entries that were ever written in it.  I bought it not too long before Simon came here last June.  It was kind of amusing to read how I was feeling and what I was thinking the months before Simon’s arrival.  I had no idea what was going to come of our visit (ok, so maybe I had some idea…) and I was so nervous.  The last entry, I wrote:

“…I wonder what I’ll be doing a year from now?  Will he still be with me?  Will we be happily living on our own?  I REALLY hope so… Let me know sometime, ok?…”

I was smiling when the next entry I was able to write included the fact that Simon and I may not be happily living on our own, but we are happily married and never have to be apart ever again.  I want to write more.  I am making a point to keep this journal with me at all times so if the urge comes, I have an outlet.  Part of me wants to re-post entries that I write in my journals on here, but then my writing begins to have a purpose, and I think that is what keeps me from really writing just to write, and I need that.  I need the freedom to be able to say what I want to say and not worry about grammar or spelling or paragraphs or how witty I sound.  Sometimes I get so caught up in how an entry will look to an on-looker that I don’t even get out what’s in my heart.

I’m thinking of doing a weekly thing.  I don’t know what yet… but I want something to motivate and inspire me to write here.  Something more than just the same old shit.  I’m sure reading about how much work sucks and I feel crappy gets tiresome after a while.  I just don’t know what I want to do.  Once I thought I wanted to base entries on quotes.  Have a quote (whether it be from books or movies or songs) and kind of elaborate on what it means to me, or how it makes me feel or why I decided to share it.  Or maybe something like memories.  Sharing a memory every week.  Something to really get me to feel and express something rather than just type… But I have no idea what would even be worth doing.

What do you think?  Would you be interested in even reading something like that?  Or do you have an idea that sounds better?  I want to know.

Now I think I may write in my journal.