The Daily Post told me to “Picture the one person in the world you really wish were reading your blog. Write her or him a letter.” I chose you, Santa. I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written. Sorry about that.
When I was a little girl, you were a powerful motivator. I had to behave myself all year (well, mostly November and December – your threats didn’t work too well in July) so that you would visit. You stopped bringing me presents when I was still in single digits. I hope you can understand that I kind of lost faith in you for a little while.
I was a skeptic from early on. It began with the fact that we didn’t even have a chimney. How would you get inside without a chimney? My mom assured me that you didn’t need one even though a chimney was integral to all the stories about you. The seed of doubt had been planted. Then, I realized that you had the same handwriting and even used the same wrapping paper as my mom. My doubt strengthened. She told me that you were so busy that you had enlisted her into your Christmas army. If it wasn’t for her help and help from parents like her, there was no way that you could finish all that work in time for Christmas. I believed her for a little while, but eventually, I thought you were a sham.
Can you ever forgive me? You see, I had a lot going on in my life then. I didn’t trust the people closest to me. My mom’s insistence that she was part of your elf army just struck me as another lie in a long list of them. I wish I had believed her. I wish I could have hung on to you for a little while longer. I miss your visits. I miss the anticipation of Christmas eve where I could hardly sleep because I was excited. I miss opening my eyes on Christmas morning and running downstairs to find that you had eaten the cookies we left out.
I took you for granted, Santa. I threw you away. I cast aside the kindest, most magical person in the whole world, because I couldn’t or just didn’t want to believe. Well, I’d like to believe in you now, if that’s alright. I know I’m a little old, but I’d like to believe in you. Please, don’t feel like you need to leave something at my house (even though I do have a chimney now). Could you use one of my Christmases to visit the house of a kid like me instead? Visit a kid who has already had too much adulthood forced upon them and doesn’t want to believe in you. Tell that kid that it’s alright to let his or her guard down, if only for one day a year. Tell them that there will be plenty of time for being an adult later on, but now, it’s time to be a kid. It’s okay to believe.
I’ll leave some cookies and milk on the counter for you this year if you’d like to take a rest at my house.
Thanks for everything, Santa.