
When my kids were little, they would write their letters to Santa on Thanksgiving weekend. They were allowed to ask for one gift only…Santa would decide if they got something else. (They always did). Said gift had to be parent-approved—for example, they couldn’t ask for a 1000-gallon aquarium, since we had no place to put it.

I also encouraged the kids to be polite in their letters, which led to them asking questions. “How is Mrs. Claus doing?” “How old are you?” What is your real name?” “Do your reindeer ever get old and die?”
And here’s the thing. Santa would write back! Every Christmas morning, next to the now-empty cookie plate and empty mug of milk would be a crumpled napkin, some crumbs and a letter! The letter would have a beautiful cut-out of a manger or a snowflake or the star of Bethlehem. Santa’s writing was gorgeous calligraphy (probably from all the practice he’s had over the years).

He would praise the kids for being such good and kind children, tell them how cozy the house looked, and how he peeked in on them while he was in our house. He would say that he enjoyed the cookies and maybe took one or two extra for Mrs. Claus back home. He would talk about how Jesus taught us to be kind and to share. He might mention that the kids’ parents were once children, too, and he saw them as little ones forever. Then he would say that while he loved sitting there with our cat or dogs, it was time again to take to the skies.

When the kids woke up on Christmas morning at 6:00 (by then, they’d been awake for an hour, bunking in together to share the agonizing anticipation), they’d go to the balcony and look over at the tree and, for a moment, take in the beauty of the lit-up Christmas tree, the presents, the empty plate. Then they’d rush downstairs, burst into our room shouting, “Merry Christmas! He came! Santa came!”
The first order of business was for Mommy to read the letter aloud. The kids were wonderstruck to hear that Santa had sat in their very house, perhaps with a cat on his lap, and answered their questions in his old-fashioned, flowery style. Then they’d unpack their stockings and open their gifts…they were such good children, truly, and Santa always left something extra for them.

As they grew, the kids told me that their favorite part of Christmas morning was reading Santa’s letter. We saved every one. Now there is a new generation of children, and I am happy to report that Santa continues to take the time to write to them, sitting in their house late at night on the most magical night of the year.
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