Farm and Ranch Life by Dr. Michael Rosmann 

 

Sometimes Santa Claus gets found out early. Then again, there is hope “Virginia” will always believe there is a Santa Claus.

Marilyn and I spent the past week in Utah with our daughter’s family, including our precocious 3-year-old granddaughter, Alex, and 1-year-old grandson, Mikey. Yes, everyone calls him that (the poor little fellow – as I know from experience).

Then again, Mikey shows signs of looking like his namesake grandpa, for he’s in the 95th percentile for kids his age in height and weight … and, may I add, his handsome appearance.

Among the most important items I packed in my suitcase was the Santa Claus regalia Marilyn created on her sewing machine a few years ago, expecting it might come in handy when the grandchildren came along. She and our adult children concluded several years ago I was just right as Santa, because of my white hair and mustache, glasses, my liking for kids and – ahem – appropriate girth.

Santa Claus visited two special children on Christmas Eve. Just one problem emerged.

As Santa handed out the presents, Alex noticed I was missing and asked, “Where’s Grandpa?” Then, to confirm her apt perception, she added, “How come you talk like Grandpa?”

Santa deftly responded, “I have to leave now because I have many more houses to visit tonight.”

What else could Santa say? Shortly afterwards Grandpa showed up and, by golly, his voice sounded just like Santa’s, except he didn’t say “Ho, ho.”

Alex is like her mother in figuring out a lot of things. These days Alex asks “Why” constantly: “Mommy, if you and Daddy sleep together, can Mikey and I sleep together?”

Her mother: “No dear, Mikey would kick you and wake you up, just like Daddy does to me.”

Alex: “How come people don’t have tails? Dogs, cats, monkeys and birds have tails.”

Her mother: “Go ask your father.”

Quite a few years ago when our daughter, Shelby, was 4 she thought she had figured out most answers to “Why?” She looked in a mirror and held her hand over the right side of her face and then the left side.

“Mom, which half of me is Japanese and which half of me is German?” Marilyn is third-generation Japanese-American and I am fourth-generation German-American.

A few years later in early December, when Shelby was 7 and Jon was 4, she announced at the supper table Santa Claus wasn’t real. Her mother and I replied, “He’s real if you want to believe so.”

Shelby: “Well, I know Santa’s not real and it’s not right to make Jon believe something false.”

Now, that’s a tough one! The best I could come up with was, “He has the right to believe what he wants.”

A week later there was a curiously loud knock on our door one early evening. Jon and Shelby crept behind me as I answered the front door. “Merry Christmas, ho, ho,” said a red-coated, white-bearded gentleman when he gave each of our children candy canes.

Hardly had the gentleman hurried outside our home when Jon stridently proclaimed for his parents and especially his sister to hear, “See, I told you Santa Claus is real!”

We all slept better that night believing in Santa Claus. It took years to learn who had visited our home. Neither Marilyn nor I had approached “Santa” for a visit. This kind-hearted, child-loving man made his rounds to all the good kids in the neighborhood – but no one knew more.

We learned about Santa 15 years later when we were discussing things with the father of a friend Jon liked. He said, “I came to your house years ago.” We put two and two together. We couldn’t thank him enough, except to offer “Merry Christmas” and tell him the story. He restored our faith, like Virginia’s in 1897.

Virginia O’Hanlon, then 8 years old, wrote a letter to a New York City newspaper upon the advice of her father, Dr. Phillip O’Hanlon. “Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says ‘If you see it in The Sun, it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?”

Francis Church, one of the newspaper’s editors, wrote the much quoted response to Virginia: “Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see.

“Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certain as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas, how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus.

“No Santa Claus!  Thank God he lives, and he lives forever.”

I couldn’t say it better than Church said it more than a century ago. It has to be right for all of us in 2015. Happy New Year!

Michael R. Rosmann, Ph.D. is on the adjunct faculty of the University of Iowa, author of Excellent Joy: Fishing, Farming, Hunting and Psychology, lectures across the United States and abroad and owns a row crop farm in Harlan, Iowa. He is a founding partner of the nonprofit network AgriWellness, Inc. For additional details about Dr. Rosmann, visit his website at www.agbehavioralhealth.com