I trudged the five blocks to school, it was a cold morning, and snow was falling. l skittered my way along icy sidewalks on the Monday that ended our Christmas vacation. I was excited to see Jimmy and John, my second-grade friends, and tell them about the gifts that Santa had left for me under our Christmas tree. On snowy days, the sisters let us come right into the classroom. No lining up with our classmates two by two and silently walking to our classrooms.

That morning, I rushed into the cloakroom, put my boots in my boot bag and hung the bag with my coat and hat on my designated hook. I happily hurried into the room where Jim and John stood talking by the side blackboard. As I approached, I shouted, “Hey guys, can’t wait to tell you what Santa brought.”
Mary Catherine, a rather large, imposing girl with pig tails slung over her shoulders was standing nearby. She pointed at me and blared, “I don’t believe it, Harry still believes in Santa Claus. What a dope.” The kids around her snickered.

Sister Mary Grace, veil flying, a frown on her pixey face, came up to Mary Catharine and put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Okay, young lady, that’s enough, go to your seat and say a prayer of forgiveness for being mean.” Sister then came to me and whispered, “It’s okay, it is up to you. You may believe as you wish as long as you can. Now go sit down.”
 
I did as sister said. I gazed out the windows at the falling snow. A tear trickled from the corner of my eye. I quickly wiped it with my shirt sleeve. However, deep in my heart, I wondered if what Mary Catherine had said was true.

On the way home, I couldn’t get the idea that there was no Santa Claus out of my head. I anxiously pulled the backdoor open. Mom was in the kitchen preparing dinner. I moaned, “Mom.” She looked at me, concern on her face. “Is something wrong?” she asked. I told her that some kids at school said there was no Santa. She came to me, cupped my chin and said, “I think this calls for some cookies and milk.”

Mom brought the treats to the table, sat down across from me. “Oh, I see,” she said, a soft smile on her lips. “Well,” she began, “Santa is in our hearts. He along with Jesus are the Christmas spirits in our family.  We give gifts to each other to remind us of Jesus’s love for us and the kindness we have for each other. Santa is Jesus’s messenger in our hearts. So, for our family, even though we can’t see him, Santa is real, just like Jesus. You see, we hope he’ll bring love and kindness for our family to share every Christmas Eve.”

That evening after Mom tucked me in, I thought about what she said. The story of Santa now began to make sense in my seven-year-old mind.