More incredible than Santa Claus

Throughout this Christmas season this year, I grew nostalgic for Christmases past and the "magic" I felt as a youngster. I had eagerly awaited Santa Claus year after year, even after my classmates grew cynical about a magical old elf who gave gifts to good boys and girls.

Why was I so gullible or so trusting? As a science geek (my preferred career was "scientist"), I quickly abandoned the idea of flying reindeer. But I just couldn't give up on a mysterious mythical figure who provided abundant toys and candies to children everywhere (my everywhere was limited to people and places I knew — American white protestant families). My discovery of time zones helped keep me in the Santa camp a little longer, reasoning that Santa could make it to all houses in one night because time zones gave him more time.

Long after my rational, science-centered brain questioned the whole "Jolly Old Elf" myth, my disbelief in Santa could not overcome another, stronger disbelief — the thought that my parents could provide the presents and goodies that awaited us every Christmas morning. I knew nothing about family income, but I knew my parents struggled to pay the bills and keep five children fed and clothed. A large garden provided food year-around, and kitchen shelves were lined with jars of canned vegetable soup, green beans, tomatoes and other treasured sustenance from that garden. Our clothing included hand-me-downs and dresses sewn by our mother for my two sisters. "We can't afford it" was often the reply when the children asked for treats or trips or other off-budget luxuries. So I was certain, beyond any smidgen of doubt, that my parents could not come up with the hundreds of dollars in gifts and candy piled every Christmas morning in the living room.

It was easier for me to believe in a mythical elf who came into our living room once a year (coming down the chimney was an early victim of my doubts). I tried to figure it out with concepts I found more plausible than either Santa Claus or my parents having enough money to fill the house with Christmas joy: (1) Some generous soul in the community would load up a tractor-trailer and drop off the requested toys at every house; or (2) the toys and candy would miraculously appear in our living room, a gift from God.

Ultimately, I had to accept the unbelievable, that my parents could buy expensive gifts because they loved us enough to make us happy. When I took a sociology course in college, I discovered that our family had been living beneath the poverty line throughout my childhood. Thus, I found that made my parents' sacrifice and their love for their children were even greater than I had realized.