The manner of giving is worth more than the gift.
~Pierre Corneille, Le Menteur
Early one December many years ago, I realized something horrible: my parents must have been on Santa’s naughty list. I was quite young at the time, but I had seen the shows and heard the stories. I knew that the better you were, the more presents you were given. My parents hardly ever received gifts from Santa.
The idea that my parents could be bad people was hard for me to stomach, so I went to the only source of truth I could trust: my older sister.
She walked me very seriously to the middle of the stairs. That was the ultimate private place in our house. Not only could nobody hear us, but it was also easy to spot anyone approaching.
“Mom and Dad aren’t kids,” she told me.
I rolled my eyes. Everyone knew that.
“And Santa,” she continued quietly, “is all about kids. He doesn’t worry about adults.”
I felt a pressure loosen in my chest. That made complete sense. Of course, my parents weren’t bad people. They just weren’t kids.
“But,” she said, “there’s more to it.”
“What?”
“Santa is always looking for helpers.”
Have you ever had a moment where you feel like the world is opening up around you? This was one of those times. I sat on the cold wooden staircase and listened as she explained that Santa wasn’t greedy. He didn’t want to be the only one allowed to give gifts. In fact, he loved the idea of us picking up the slack, especially when it came to parents.
During our next trip to the mall, my sister staged a distraction so I could make a purchase without Mom noticing.
That Christmas morning, my parents each had a special present from “Santa” under the tree.
I know what you’re thinking. How could they not have noticed the shaky writing on the notes? Why didn’t they question why Santa had brought them each a box of cheese?
I don’t have answers for you. All I know is that I spent that Christmas morning in suspense, waiting for them to discover their presents. When they finally did, I could barely contain myself. Their faces broke into wide smiles. Then, as they tore the giftwrap away and realized they were cheese boxes, they laughed and shouted “Thank you, Santa!” My dad opened his to share the cheese with everyone.
I felt like my heart would burst.
It is one of my clearest and happiest memories of my childhood Christmases, far outstripping any gifts that I ever received.
I knew right then and there that I would spend the rest of my life working for Santa.
~Patrick Matthews
