Dear Calculus Teacher Turned Santa,
When we met, he told me he didn't like children. At 18, he must have thought that sounded cool. To someone who worked at a daycare and had aspirations to spend her life in the field of education, it didn't sound cool, not even a little bit. That one mistake almost cost Santa a second date.
We've been married 16 years now. We have two boys, a mortgage, and a gray-floral bedding set- none of which would have been possible if Santa hadn't changed his tune about children.
It's funny the things young boys say to impress girls. Almost none of it is impressive, but thankfully, the majority of women are forgiving of most anything so long as they can see goodness at the core.
And I could. Right from the start.
Even when he was a teenage boy strutting around like he had the world by the tail, I think I somehow instinctively knew he would one day be Santa to somebody.
As clear as day, I could see it - up all night assembling a trampoline, milk and cookies, a note to children he didn't like, the whole nine yards.
Legend has it, Santa sees you when you're sleeping and knows if you've been good or bad, but teachers have a super power even greater than Santa's.
They can see what people will become before they even see it in themselves, which is how I knew early on that he would be the greatest Santa that ever lived.
What I could not predict was that he would one day be pulled from teaching Calculus to spread Christmas cheer to elementary students who were convinced Santa was not coming due to the global pandemic of 2020.
Imagine their surprise, when the jolly ol' fella barged right into their reading circle with a candy cane for each child.
Instead of laying out the steps for solving differential equations, he began checking his list to find out who had been naughty or nice. At the top of his naughty list was a little girl who, hmm...how shall I say it...accidentally let one rip just as she was about to rattle off her wishlist.
Needless to say, she's getting coal.
That night Santa came home with a flurry of stories: the children who asked for items outside of Santa's budget, the ones who ran to him with arms wide open, and the overall joy it brought him to see children so genuinely happy in such a difficult year.
This year we all need a little less sorrow and a lot more Santa.
We need to believe in the goodness of a hope-filled future that may not be here yet but is definitely coming, the kind of hope that turns short-sighted teenage boys into grown men who stay up all night putting together a trampoline while Mrs. Claus holds the flashlight.
After a long day of toy requests, she helps Santa shed his boots and beard.
Before settling down for a long winter's nap in their gray-floral comforter, she whispers the obvious, "So, do you still not like children?"
-CDB