Santa lives among us

The Boston Herald

BEVERLY BECKHAM

Dear World:

I understand you don't believe in me. You call me a figment of the imagination, a charade inflicted upon children. I corrupt youth, you argue, and inspire greed. You say that I'm a farce.

Ah, but you're wrong. I am neither a figment nor a farce. I am as real as you. In fact, I am you.

I'm the teacher who tutors your son with the algebra he doesn't understand, the friend who cooked for you when you were sick, and drove you to the doctor's when no one else could. I'm the neighbor who brings in your mail when you're on vacation and watches the house and sometimes even babysits the dog.

I'm the stranger who lets you into the intersection, the clerk who reminds you to take your change, the lady who held your baby the other day when it was pouring and your cart was parked at the end of the mall.

I'm the guy in the leather jacket who took the time to show you how to pump gas even though I was late for a date. I'm the school bus driver who kept your small daughter on the bus the afternoon you weren't home and backtracked to drop her off when you were. I'm the next-door neighbor who visits your mother the days you are too busy.

I'm every Boy Scout and Girl Scout leader, Big Brother and Big Sister, every coach, every religious teacher, every volunteer you ever met.

Sometimes I am the absence of evil instead of the presence of good. I'm the fellow who doesn't pull into the parking space you've been guarding; the lady at the delicatessen who admits you were in line first; the guy who holds the door instead of holding you up; the teenager who jump starts your car and doesn't steal it.

I'm the mother-in-law who doesn't carp, the guy who doesn't cheat, the girl who never broke your heart, the child who always brought you joy.

I understand that it's easy for you to overlook me. And usually I don't care. But at this time of year when I hear people muttering about how there is no Christmas spirit, no true charity and no Santa Claus, I have to protest.

Just stop a minute and look around. I am everywhere.

Those men and women standing on the corner ringing bells? Who do you think they are? The girls taping garland on hospital walls? The children singing carols? The men delivering toys? The people cooking meals and washing dishes and handing out gifts?

I am the Shriners, the Lions, the Knights of Columbus, every single organization that has every helped anyone.

I'm every father who has strung Christmas lights and spun tales to the delight of a child; every mother who has stretched cookie dough and time to work, to shop, to cook and to look relaxed watching "Frosty the Snowman" for the zillionth time.

And I am, of course, all the children who use their red construction paper for Christmas cards and all of their allowance for presents.

No Santa Claus? Humbug!

Not to believe in me is to lose something of yourself. I am not just the spirit of Christmas, I am the essence of life. I am every glad tiding and good feeling you've ever entertained. I am selflessness and generosity and devotion. I am what gives humanity hope.

You expect me to tap you on the shoulder, to let you know I'm here. You anticipate the perfect setting: a little snow on the roof, a roaring fire, a clear winter's night. The children all nestled and snug in their beds.

But if the children are grown and the night isn't clear and the snow doesn't fall? What then? Disappointment? Disillusionment? If I don't slide down your chimney, does that mean I don't exist?

Of course not.

I am you. I am your goodness and your kindness and your charity. I am the best of what you can be, the realization of all your potential.

To deny me is to deny yourself. To believe in me is to live forever.

Merry Christmas.

Your friend,

Santa Claus