I was the last kid in my class to believe in Santa Claus. I believed against my classmates claims, against all evidence to the contrary. It wasn’t until my mother broke the news to me, the last year we would celebrate Christmas, that I realized there was no Santa Claus. I was 8.
Secretly, I still believed, not necessarily in Santa Claus, the person, but in the idea that there was something magical about the season and the day. I still believe this. There is something magical, and it is the kindness and gratitude and love for our fellow humans that seems to permeate the air. Even when people exhibit behavior that makes me cringe, I think the good of the season outweighs the bad. For me, this is what the Christmas season is all about.
In adulthood I pull together every year the Christmas I always wanted as a child. I attempt to create traditions of our own, that one day Azita will remember fondly. Traditions that can make us feel warm and safe and happy when we reflect upon them in future dark times. Hands down, my favorite tradition is charity and kindness. We always make sure to give as much as we can to those less fortunate than us. And I hope all of you will find it in your hearts to do the same.
Merry Christmas, friends. I hope your season is chock full of love and happiness.