Something Special

Christmas was something special this year because an abiding belief in the reality of Santa Claus was present in our house.  We initially were worried such a faith did not yet exist for Emma.  We helped Emma send a letter to Santa not long before Thanksgiving but she didn't seem too sure that the big blue mailbox was going to get her letter (which was, in fact, a picture of a specific doll house she wanted - rendered in all the detail a nearly 5 year old can muster) to Santa Claus.

Although things seemed to change slowly, Christmas songs and dances at pre-school seemed to fuel the dubious suspicion that a man who gives out toys might truly exist.  By the week of Christmas, doubt was little more than a fog for Emma.  In fact, her belief in Santa Claus became horribly apparent when I almost crushed my daughters heart by driving to the wrong place to meet our engagement on "The Polar Express."  Emma was concerned she would not make it to the North Pole to confirm the existence of the Jolly Elf (and to pass along her list) and I was crushed, nearly to tears, to think that the excitement of Christmas may have been dashed by none other than myself.

Apparently my attempts to conceal my anguish were not as good as I had hoped.  The management at the Heber Valley Railroad, noticing a potential problem, went out of their way to investigate cancellations and help me re-book a ride the next day on the last "Polar" train.  Thanks to my agreeable co-workers I was able to secure the night off and we successfully boarded "The Polar Express."  The payoff was profound.  Emma nearly floated from her seat at the chance to see Santa Claus board the train at the North Pole and distribute his "first gifts of Christmas" which had fallen from Rudolph's harness.  Her excitement was so great that she forgot her list, and instead sparkled at being called by name and receiving a hug from the man in red velvet robes.

When Christmas morning arrived, Emma delighted to seeing a rather large present before the tree, and a conspicuous envelope with her name on it.  Inside was a letter from Santa himself and the picture she had drawn in November.  Behind the wrapping was the precise dollhouse she had tried to describe.  There was now no doubt: Santa was real.  "I sent Santa my letter in the mail and it was a dollhouse picture and he gave me the doll house and he brought back the letter so I could see it was the same one!" she would tell anyone who asked even an innocuous question about her holiday experience.  

Never before have I been so pleased to be part of a conspiracy.  The vast perpetration of a grand secret on so many people has made Christmas for me, once again, special.