Santa Claus was not always a jolly old fellow. He did not always have long white whiskers, and he did not always wear a big red suit.
Long before he lived in the North Pole, and long before his yearly Christmas visits brought joy to all the children of the world, Santa Claus was a child himself. He was once just an ordinary baby boy named Nicholas. The baby boy was just like any other, but his parents hoped for great things from their only son. They named him Nicholas, which means “hero of the people.”
Even at a young age, Nicholas was a kind and generous boy. He often helped the people in his village. He shared his meals with those who had nothing to eat, he was always the first to lend a helping hand, and he brought joy to young and old alike. There was no better friend to have than young Nicholas.
At a very young age, Nicholas joined the church. It was his duty to help people. Nicholas gave special attention to the children of his village, and they were very fond of Nicholas for his playful and joyful manner.
Nicholas became well-known throughout the land as a kind and wise young man. He was soon named a bishop of the church. Because Nicholas was still so young, people called him the “Boy Bishop.”
Nicholas wore a long red robe with a red hat, and he traveled on horseback. At every village, happy children would spot his bright robe from a distance and gather in the road to greet him.
In one village, Bishop Nicholas heard the sorrowful tale of a poor old man and his three young daughters. It seemed the man could no longer feed his daughters, and he feared he would have to send them away from him. Nicholas knew he could help this family.
That night, while the whole village slept, Nicholas crept up to the hut where the three sisters lived. He climbed up to the rooftop to find the chimney. There Nicholas dropped three bags of gold, one by one, down through the chimney stack.
Earlier that day, the three sisters had hung their newly washed stockings by the fireplace to dry. Each small bag of gold that Nicholas dropped fell into one of the stockings below.The next morning, the girls were overjoyed to find gold coins in their stockings. “Father!” they called, running to wake him. “We have received a magical gift!”
As the story of these three sisters spread from village to village, other people began to hang their stockings by the fire, hoping to find a secret gift when they awoke the next morning. Though this was Bishop Nicholas’ most famous gift, it was not his first good deed. And it would certainly not be his last.
Bishop Nicholas enjoyed surprising people. He began to deliver his secret gifts of hope and joy only at night, while his friends were asleep.
For all of his good deeds, Bishop Nicholas was named a saint. He is honored as the saint who looks after all children. Like other saints, St. Nicholas was given a name day. One day each year everyone celebrates the saint’s good deeds. St. Nicholas’ name day is December 6.
People all over the world began to celebrate St. Nicholas Day. They hung their stockings by the fire the night before and awoke the next morning to find them filled with candy, fruit, nuts, or toys. St. Nicholas had left a magical gift at each home!Many years ago, people began to celebrate St. Nicholas’ good deeds on Christmas Day, another holiday in December. St. Nicholas has many names around the world. In some places he is called
“Sint Nikolass” or “Sinterklass.” Many people know him today as Santa Claus.
A true hero of the people, St. Nicholas still delivers his magical gifts each year at Christmastime. The gifts Santa Claus delivers, gifts of hope and joy, bring the joy of giving to all the children of the world.
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’
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 at 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 eternal 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 they 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, not even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, 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 he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood. — By Francis P. Church, The New York Sun, September 21, 1897.The spirit of Santa can exist in anyone who chooses to believe in it, as you’ll find out in the story on the next page, “Will Santa Claus Come for Christmas Dinner?”
‘Will Santa Claus Come for Christmas Dinner?’
I first saw him at our friends’ wedding rehearsal. The resemblance was uncanny. There was no red suit with white fur trim, no fat belly, and no sleigh and reindeer. But the beard was the purest white I had ever seen. It was the most authentic Santa beard anyone could conceive. My adult mind kept playing a childish refrain. “It’s Santa! It’s really Santa!”
How appropriate that the wedding would be on December 23. Santa was to provide the music. He was rather solemn as the others celebrated in a festive mood. The minister showed him where to stand during the ceremony. I assumed he would sing. But the thin, bearded Santa in blue jeans reached down, opened a violin case, and lovingly took out his instrument.
Santa was not just a man playing a violin. It was obvious even to the untrained ear that the strings were in the hands of a master. People who had been chatting in various parts of the church slipped into the pews one by one, moved by the talent of this quiet gentleman.
He sat across the table from me at the rehearsal dinner. He did look like Santa, but carrying on a conversation with him was quite difficult. I learned that he was a plumber, not a professional musician, and that there was no “Mrs. Claus.” He would be spending Christmas alone.
The idea preyed on my mind all night. Santa spending Christmas alone? The next day I asked the bride-to-be, “What’s with Santa? No twinkle in his eye, no family, and no one to spend Christmas with?” She looked at me. “You don’t know, do you?”
I instantly knew that I was not prepared for her answer. She said that Santa had loved his wife and son very much — he was a devoted husband and father. Several years ago, he came home from work in early December to find them both gone — their lives snuffed out by an intruder. He hasn’t been the same since. There is no twinkle in his eyes. And he can’t bear to hold little children and listen to their precious requests as he had done for so many years. No more Santa in the red suit — just the plumber in blue jeans.
At the reception, he stood all alone. I did manage to engage him in some small talk. “Yes, it was a beautiful wedding.” I looked him in the eye. “Will you come to our house for Christmas dinner?” His face flushed. I could see his hands shaking. “We have five sons. May I tell them Santa is coming for Christmas dinner?” I slipped him a note with our address. He stared into space. I turned away unacknowledged.
As I tucked the younger boys in bed on Christmas Eve, I spoke softly. “Maybe we will have a special guest for dinner tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe Santa himself will be here!” I prayed as I laid my head on the pillow. “Please don’t let Santa be alone on Christmas.”
The turkey was browned perfectly. The desserts were arranged on a special table, and everyone was starving. One o’clock and time for dinner. That morning, each of the boys, one by one, had come to ask me. “Mom, did you really invite him?” “Do you think he’s going to come?”
My answer: “I hope so, Son.”
We couldn’t wait any longer. “Time for Christmas dinner!” Everyone gathered around the table. I saw the disappointment in the boys’ faces. But just as the “amen” at the end of the blessing was pronounced, we all heard a car door slam. The boys raced to the back door. I could tell by the amazement on their faces who was coming up the back steps. “Mom, it’s him! It’s him! It’s really Santa Claus — in his everyday clothes, the ones he must wear all year in his workshop!”
The boys never saw the tears I brushed away as they rushed to welcome Santa into our home. After we opened our presents (there were even two for Santa), Santa spoke. “May I give your family a gift now?” He went outside and came back with his old black violin case. As he played, I was sure I could hear angels joining in as we sang.
After he put the instrument away, our two-year-old toddled over to Santa and gently stroked his beard. “Santa, tan I sits on ur lap?” I saw all the color drain from Santa’s cheeks. For a moment, he was as white as his beard. Then slowly, slowly, Santa eased back into his big chair, and finally he stretched out his arms.
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