Santa Claus

A while ago my little sister told her friend that Santa was dead.

He didn’t believe her.

You see, in our family, we don’t learn about Santa, we learn about Saint Nicholas - and St. Nicholas is dead. We use a special advent calendar that has you focus on something different each day. “S” day is St. Nicholas day. Every year we hear the same story, about how a kind old Cardinal (not the bird, but the catholic position) who had a huge heart for the needy, tossed gold coins into the house of some dowrey-needing daughters. Supposedly the coins each plopped right into their stockings, which were hung by the fire with care, of course. We also learn about then different traditions in other countries, and how nowadays people call him Santa and count on him for their gifts - the poor guy, he just wanted to help some girls out, he didn’t mean to become famous.

So, in my darling sister’s opinion’, Santa is St. Nicholas, St. Nicholas is dead, therefore Santa is dead (or at least not real). The rule was already put in place, stating that they are not allowed to tell their friends that Santa does not exist. I had a tough situation when I was 5. My friend and I got into a fight because I was trying to explain to her how it was impossible for Santa to have delivered her bike, and that it was her parents. My mom and I had a talk after that. Well, the little girls aren’t allowed to tell their friends about the non-existance of the jolly old… elf? But no one ever said anything about keeping his passing a seceret.

We now have a new family rule.