Magicmas

I wanted to go on and on about how I feel about Santa.  About how so many people who celebrate Christmas in a secular setting shouldn't really call it Christmas.  About how so many people get offended when I say "Merry Christmas," but, in truth, perhaps I should be the one offended when non-believers say it to me.  About how Santa seems to be the reason for the season most everywhere I look.

I'm not going to now.  It's been argued around and around and, honestly, I think I might be wrong.

A fellow blogger, who coincidentally I referred to in my last post, John Kinnear from Ask Your Dad, wrote a better piece than mine would have been, In Defense of Santa.  With a tenderness bordering on reverence he explains, without rancor or harshness, how he defends Santa for himself, his family and his very fortunate kids.

Around here we have never made a big deal out of Santa, he brought stuff for the stockings and an unwrapped gift sometimes.  The boys enjoyed the magic of it all.  We fed the reindeer special food with glitter to help them fly.  We wrote notes and left cookies and wrote letters and did all that.  We discussed how he gets in our house and how a fire wouldn't burn him and...

Oh, you noticed, yeah... past tense.  They know now that we were Santa.  They suspected last year when Marci heard them talking about comparing handwriting.  I'd guess that is why I am so down on him this year.  I am sad.  I suspect they are, too.

It is about the magic isn't it.  When the boys were little, three or so, we used to make little fairy houses out of sticks and moss and bits of this and pieces of that.  They were tragically cute and a bit hopeless.  I'd go out overnight and put a little bag of Skittles or a polished stone or something of the sort and tell them that the "Wood Fairies" always left a gift in appreciation of the cozy house they been given to stay in.

Magic...

We weren't very good Tooth Fairies really, but they bought it, even the time(s) we forgot, and then one night Zack saw Mom do it.  Oh well...

Magic...

The Easter Bunny is the most peculiar of the magical myths we perpetuate in our secular society today.  I found him to be a particularly difficult sell if you want the truth.  A disturbingly silly pink rabbit bringing eggs and candy to help celebrate the resurrection of a crucified Son of God.  I couldn't even figure it, let alone explain it.

Magic...

But wait.  A child born of a Virgin in a manger as a star guided magi and shepherds heard angels on high?

Magic...

Enough lamp oil for eight nights?

Magic...

A solstice, a new dawn, harvest, sacrifice, prophesy, death, rebirth?

Magic...

I'm no philosopher, but, maybe, uh...

Is it all the same Magic?


I do have a theory - a bit of magical thinking more accurately - to help unify all this.  Wanna hear it?

I think the most forgotten character in the whole Christmas thing is poor third-wheel Joseph.  Nothing I could say would add much to the story that is his.  The man a Savior called "Abba."  A man who raised a boy, taught him a craft, taught him faith.  In fact I already wrote about my affinity for him previously.  But, simply said, what if Santa is ole Joe?

You're welcome...

Or we could repurpose him for another holiday as I argued a couple years back.


I found this note on the floor.  It's not to Santa.  It actually has no bearing on the subject at hand.  It is sheer laziness on my part, but honestly I don't feel like figuring out how to justify this into the post today.  Sorry:

To: Zack
From:  Zack

And a little happy face guy in case he annoyed himself by writing a note to himself to do his break homework.


I know you are busy and I appreciate that you'd take the time to stop by today - or whenever you do, are, will... anyway, thanks.

A couple of years ago I wrote a letter to a boy about Santa and all this.  I must believe in this kind of magic, some kind of magic, some truth.  My heart is still breaking...


Merry Magicmas.