Yesterday, the Lady on the radio said . . . 36 days till Christmas . . . and that was all it took. I’m ready. I’m waiting for Santa and Christmas like a five year old. I love the color of it all, that special "something" in the air during the entire holiday, and the extraordinary hope for the future that the season brings.

          Oh, and I love Santa Claus.

          Somebody I know, told somebody else I know that Santa Claus was dead. Evidently, that person said, he died a long time ago. Somebody else ate all those cookies . . . somebody else drank all that milk. That, my friends, is wrong on oh so many levels.

          So, you don’t want yer kid to believe in Santa . . . okay, I don’t agree with you, but I’m willing to allow you to raise your own kids as you see fit. But raise them with the belief that he does not exist from the very beginning of their lives. Don’t pretend that he is good enough to get them through the early years, and then . . . kill him off with no fanfare. EXPLAIN, the reality of it all, go into detail about the Christmas spirit, the myth of the man, the importance of his role as a Goodwill Ambassador, and break it to them gently if you must break it to them at all.

          As for me and mine, we believe. Have always believed. We’ve seen his work, we’ve witnessed his magic and realized long ago that Santa Claus is more than a mere mortal or a jolly fellow in a velvet red suit.

          Don’t make me break out that famous "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" letter to the editor here.

          Yes, I’m adult and I realize that people have been opposing the belief in Santa for many, many, years. Some say if you let your children believe in Santa it detracts from the religious implications of the holiest day of the year. I say blarney . . . the truly faithful can and have found a way to believe in both.

          Some say Santa Claus is merely the face on a holiday that grows more and more commercialized year after year. I say that if you let the sales people and bargain ads set your Christmas traditions, you don’t have much of a tradition in the first place.

          And my favorite . . . the ones that say that allowing a child to believe in Santa is to promote parents lying to their children. Really? Is it the same as "eat all your green beans or you won’t grow up to be as tall as dad"? Or "only the smartest and best get into college"?

          Please.

          According to the stories . . . Santa keeps a list of names of good boys and girls up there in land of snow and ice, he and his elves build toys of all kinds, and eight flying reindeer help him deliver them as gifts on Christmas Eve to afore mentioned girls and boys. I admit, that’s a hard pill to swallow. But even as a grown-up, I find the majority of it believable (sans the flying animals). I mean if I’m expected to believe that watching apples fall from trees led to the discovery (or at least an explanation) of gravity by one guy, and another guy flew a kite with a key to determine the reality of electricity, and somebody somewhere discovered the good uses of penicillin by watching mold grow on bread . . . then I can certainly believe in the possibility of a guy who keeps Christmas in his heart and gives gifts to children.

          To be perfectly honest, he never brought me a gift. That’s right, here I am taking up for the man and he never once was able to stop by my own house and drop off a little something for this true believer. But, the fact that he didn’t, just made me believe more. See, I was never one to believe that he brought you gifts if you were "good". I was always under the impression that he brought gifts to those who "needed" them . . . not needed them because they weren’t getting any other gifts, but needed them to lift their spirts, to give them hope . . . to allow them one fleet second of thinking that somebody, somewhere cared. And I didn’t need any of that . . . I’m true believer, I was absolutely fine.

          To each their own of course, but I see absolutely nothing wrong in allowing children or anybody else for that matter to have a little hope in this crazy world of ours. To believe in an unexplainable magic . . . just for the sake of believing.

          And hey, if believing in a fat man in a red suit can do that, then I’m all for it.

          (And Santa, if you’re reading this . . . sorry about the fat remark.)