Is Santa Real?

by Terry Broxson

I have no idea why I agreed to do this. The one or two people still alive who know me well would say, "That's way out of character for him."

Yet, here I am at a library in a northern suburb of Dallas, Texas. It's 10 AM on Saturday, after Thanksgiving, helping to kick off the Christmas season. Earlier this year, I fancied myself an author and published a book about Santa Claus.

Apparently, authors agree to do readings at libraries—even those who only fancy themselves as authors.

The book has only been out for a few weeks. The reality of sales will be unknown until the printer, an Amazon company, provides results to the publisher.

Since I self-published with a limited marketing budget, I don't expect to be on the NYT best sellers list.

The reviews of the book have generally been okay. Literary organizations weighed in:

LITERARY TITAN made the book a Silver Award Winner: "Enchanting narrative, imaginative origin story."

FEATHERED QUILL: "Magical story, entertaining and uplifting."

INDEPENDENT BOOK REVIEW: "Great Introduction to Santa, love, happiness, and reindeer games."

Diane Donovan, Sr. Reviewer for MIDWEST BOOK REVIEW: "Highly recommended for family pursuit and enjoyment."

But I have learned I can't please everyone.

There were other individuals. "The book fell flat." "I couldn't finish it." My wish for these book reviewers is that they find a lump of coal in their Christmas stocking. Bah humbug to them!

Okay, so I didn't have the Christmas spirit when I wrote that last paragraph. My apologies.

Did dreams of sugar plums and literary success dance in my head before the book came out? Yep. But then came the cold slap in the face of reality. The publishing world ain't easy. This thought gripped my mind the way a politician grabs a donor.

My buddy Kirby told me, "I'm proud of you putting yourself out there."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You know you're getting old; not everyone will like your writing. You have to be prepared for criticism."

This morning, I pondered his message and thought, does it include kids?

I count eleven. Six girls and five boys could be five to eight years old. I'm not a good judge. I never had kids. So, what the hell am I doing here? Dang, did I say that out loud? Did they hear me?

The aroma of fresh baked Snickerdoodles and canisters of hot chocolate filI the small library. This could explain the crowd. Is twenty a crowd?

I figure there might be three mothers and one father; the rest are most likely grandparents. The colorful plastic chairs are arranged in a semi-circle, with me sitting in a high-back red silk upholstered chair facing the group. I plan on doing part one of the story, twenty-five minutes top, and then I'm outta here.

My hand shook a bit as I sat my pumpkin-spiced Starbucks coffee on the small table next to my chair. "Thank you all for coming this morning. My name is Terry, and I have been asked to read part of a book I have written and recently published. It is called Santa Claus: The Beginning. I know all of you have heard about Santa."

Young heads started bobbing, and old heads were smiling.

My confidence began to grow. I open the book. "My book will answer a few questions about the man who became Santa. What did he do before agreeing to bring toys to the world's children? What was he like as a boy? When did he meet the elves, his reindeer, Rudolph, and the lady who would become Mrs. Claus?"

A hand shot up, and a voice said, "I have a question. Is Santa real?"

I quickly look at the little troublemaker. I guess she might be six. Blond curls and bright blue eyes don't fool me. This girl belongs on the naughty list.

The ability of my brain to articulate words starts working in overdrive. You got at least seventy years on her. You can handle this.

"You asked an excellent question. What is your name?"

"Diane"

"Diane, many years ago, a young girl about your age named Virgina asked the same question of a newspaper in New York City. The newspaper wrote an editorial answering her question. I don't have a copy here today, but your parents or grandparents can get it, and I think you'll find it interesting."

That's a nice sidestep.

"But you wrote a book about Santa. Don't you know if he's real?"

Stage a coughing fit. You could claim you are coming down with Covid and need to leave.

"I do know the truth about Santa. Do you know what the name Santa Claus means?"

Diane shakes her head no.

"Names are interesting. For example, the name Zoe means life in Greek. Linda comes from the Spanish word for pretty. Your name, Diane, comes from the word divine.

"The name Santa Claus means to give lovingly and freely. That's what Santa does.

"I'll share a secret with you. This happens to everybody. As you grow older, Santa changes. Santa's fun for kids. But when you get older, Santa is even more fun. I may be the oldest person here. And I have more fun with Santa than anybody. That's why I wrote my little book.

"Now, would you like to hear how a little boy became a toy maker and then Santa Claus?"

"Yes, please."