The Weakly Post
A Letter to Santa
“Some say, ‘Seeing is Believing’…but I say, ‘Believing is
Seeing.’”
Dewitt Jones, Photographer,
National Geographic Magazine
**********
Santa Claus
North
Pole
December 12, 2013
Dear
Santa:
Where do I
begin? It’s been a long time since I wrote to you. It was 1950. I was 8 years
old. I accused you of being fat, a fraud, a trickster, running a nefarious
scheme and working illegal immigrant elves without green cards. I was dumb
then.
My apology
may seem hollow…what can I plead? Guilty by reason of insanity? You’ve heard
all that. Besides, I know you’re busy. So many requests, so little time. But,
trust me, I’m concerned about global warming. Are your headquarters really
melting? We’re spending enormous sums to keep you in business.
I’m
nostalgic when remembering the letters I sent. My brother and I tried to figure
out how you could make those toys and deliver them all on one night in a sled.
Our house had no chimney. How did you get in? Obviously somehow, since the milk
and cookies were always missing in the morning.
I remember
the letter about the red bike. How did you get it into the house? Yet, there it
was. I believed in those days, because seeing is believing to a child. I
can’t recall everything I asked for, especially clothes. Somehow you knew my
exact size. They always fit.
Do you
remember the tiny trucks, tractors and cars you once left? Crawling in the grit
of our back yard, we became engineers and road builders . We constructed small
freeways, built small stick cities. We fantasized being travelers, visiting
places of intrigue far beyond our small hick town. Guess what? It came to
pass. You knew it would, didn’t you?
Remember
the Daisy lever-action BB rifles you gave us? The toy soldiers? We became
warriors, real and imagined. Once we played ‘real’ army, drew sides, fought
battles. Our parents took us to the woodshed for that.
Remember
those ‘harmless’ pea shooters? Listen, small boys can fashion anything into
some kind of a weapon. We amused ourselves in the movie theater until the owner
began to bodily search us and confiscate our artillery.
Oh, the
chemistry sets! The house reeked of sulfur for weeks. How ‘bout the erector
kits? Parts were sucked up by the vacuum, causing great consternation
with Mama. We became Monopoly tycoons. We still pretend to be. Unfortunately
your model airplanes were shoddy. They never lasted long. Neither did my
pilot’s license.
The
fireworks were the best. Thanks for trusting us…no directions, no warnings, no
rules. We were small-town terrorists. Everything was fair game…cherry bombs
exploded, empty cans soared, mailboxes ripped apart. Fence posts were
shattered. TNT bombs rocked passing cars. Roman candles set the sedge field
behind our house on fire. Worse than the whipping we got, our bamboo fort
burned to the ground.
But we have
missed you. Age has enlightened us about the mystique of Christmas. It’s a time
of great expectation, of anticipation, and of surprises…and endless discussions
of who you are and how you always know everything.
We were
told that “believing is receiving.” Somehow, in spite of our doubt, it all came
to pass. Santa, we need a renewal of that spirit!
The years
passed. We grew up and moved on. Our toys got bigger. We forgot about you, but
thankfully you didn’t forget about us. So, belatedly I write to thank you for
your faithfulness. While we still don’t totally understand it, yet we believe
it… faith may be the miracle of Christmas.
**********
Soon
children , young and old, will attempt to resolve the enigma of Christmas… “Seeing
is Believing, or Believing is Seeing?” Convince us again, Santa…and keep
eatin’ the cookies!
Repentantly yours,
Bud Hearn
PS: This may be a strange
question, but are you related to Jesus? Just wondering.
“They forget to leave the key
every time. I guess we can try the chimney.”
Illustrator
Leslie Hearn
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