The Christmas Spirit

"What did you ask Santa for, Robbie?"

"A Lego race track!" Robbie Clark replied, shaking with excitement.

Mrs. Clark, sitting in the minivan’s passenger seat, turned to address her older child. "And, Michael, what did you ask Santa for?"

Michael Clark sullenly stared out the window while he mumbled a response. "Fake Santa."

Holding out hope that she had misheard, Mrs. Clark asked him to repeat himself.

Michael stared his mother in the eyes. "What I told Santa was a secret, and you should not need to know."

Mrs. Clark shared a pained grimace with her husband. Her children were growing, and there was no way to turn back the clock.

When they got home, the kids were sent outside to play. Michael tried jumping on the trampoline, but, overcome by emotion, he laid on his back and stared at the barren trees. His little brother eventually noticed and approached.

“What’s wrong, Michael?”

Michael breathed out, watching his exhalation dissipate into the afternoon air.

“I’m worried about Mom and Dad.”

Robbie dropped the ball he had been hoping to throw with his older brother.

“Why?”

Michael sat up and looked Robbie in the eyes.

“Do you think that was the real Santa at the mall today?”

“Of course!” replied Robbie, automatically.

Michael swallowed, thinking about how best to tell his brother the truth.

“There are a lot of malls in the world. Do you think the real Santa visits all of them?”

“That’s how he knows what we want for Christmas! That and the letters!”

“There were signs saying Santa was at the mall every Sunday this month. We also saw him at the farmer’s market last weekend, and he came to school. If he’s spending this much time in our city, how is he able to visit all the other cities, too?”

Robbie wasn’t convinced, but Michael continued rather than giving him a chance to say why.

“And it gets even worse on Christmas Eve. There are hundreds of kids at our school, and there are probably hundreds of other schools. There’s no way he can visit all of them in one night!”

“Sure, he can,” protested Robbie. “Santa can use magic.”

“We’ll see.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ve secretly been being naughty to see if Santa is really watching.”

Robbie couldn’t believe his ears. “What have you been doing?”

“I’ve been changing the thermostat at night after everyone’s asleep.”

“Do you want to get no presents?”

“That would convince me Santa is really watching. Also, I’ve only told the Santa at the mall what I want. We’ll find out if he’s real, or at least can talk to the real Santa.”

Robbie kicked the ball, which rolled under the trampoline and bounced off the fence. His brother was in a dark place. Even worse, he was saying thoughts Robbie had himself buried under years of Christmas stories celebrating the power of belief. This was not the right way to think.

“But Mom and Dad told us Santa is real. Do you think they are wrong?”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Michael rubbed tears from his eyes. “What if Santa isn’t one person? What if he’s a spirit that possesses parents everywhere and makes them give presents?”

“Is that the worst thing? At least we get presents.”

“How dare you think about gifts right now! Our parents are losing control of their bodies!”

Robbie, now fighting off guilt and doubt, again protested. “You could be wrong. Santa could just be magic.”

Michael fell backward on the trampoline and bobbed up and down while considering his parents’ potential possession. Robbie climbed up next to him.

“Let’s take a nap on Christmas Eve. After we go to bed, we’ll hide in the closet under the stairs. If we see Santa, we can go back to sleep. If we see our parents, we can run out and tell them they don’t have to buy us presents.”

“Mom and Dad will never believe we want to take a nap.”

“We’ll tell them we want to make sure Santa thinks we’re good.”

Over the next week, both boys were on their best behavior. In between extra chores and random compliments, the brothers giggled at their cleverness, thrilled by their conspiracy. Embracing the role, Michael suspended his disbelief and did his best to enjoy the holiday.

On Christmas Eve, they went on a family walk around a richer neighborhood. The boys stayed warm by racing through the streets, exhilarated by the twinkling decorations. After a short snowball fight, the exhausted brothers returned home to eat peppermint bark and help their mom bake cookies.

With remarkably little fuss, Mr. and Mrs. Clark put their well-behaved sons to bed, opened a bottle of wine, and began staging the scene.

First, they displayed a Lego Race Track and three racecars. Both parents had memories of staying up late applying stickers to Christmas gifts, and they were relieved Robbie would gladly assemble this year’s present on his own.

An internet retailer had mailed the Clarks a Christmas catalog. Mrs. Clark had secretly observed Michael staring at an ad for a children’s telescope. Mr. Clark ordered a far nicer model and an introductory astronomy textbook. He looked forward to learning about the hobby with his son.

While they set up presents and ate cookies, the pair joked about the continuously misbehaving smart-home thermostat. Mrs. Clark said that she was going to check it twice and probably put it on the naughty list. On the way back to the living room, she opened the hall closet door and fell silent. She gestured her husband over to see their sons sleeping through their failed stakeout.

Possessed by the Christmas Spirit, the two parents smiled, picked up their sleeping children, and carried them upstairs.

The next morning, Michael and Robbie woke up in their own beds, as if by magic. As they ran downstairs, whatever disappointment they felt was quickly replaced with curiosity and excitement.

Before he even entered the living room, Michael knew what to expect. The light streaming through the windows, the smells of his father cooking breakfast, and the sounds of gentle Christmas music painted a picture that could only be completed in one way.

While Robbie opened his Legos, Michael tried to remember his tests. He had received a present, so Santa hadn’t known about the thermostat. He wasn’t magically watching. Also, he hadn’t picked exactly what he wanted, so Santa hadn’t magically visited the mall.

But he had picked something better.

Michael turned to look at his mother. She was sitting on the couch, smiling at her son over a hot cup of coffee. “What do you think? Did Santa do a good job?”

His parents had been possessed by the Christmas Spirit. It might not be magic, but it was magical.

He gave Mrs. Clark a hug and tried to express his gratitude.

“Mom, it’s perfect.”