Father Christmas

Matthew had never really been too excited for the holidays. From a young age, Matthew had been aware of the gimmicks of the festive season and the predatory nature of the major companies (who were all owned by one major company with one goal, anyway, as his parents had taught him). “Those toys are a total waste of time and money,” his parents had always told him, and growing up in a recession, he had believed that they had been right.  

He never needed expensive, fancy toys, and he had just as much fun reading, or playing with his older siblings' hand-me-down toys, anyway.  

This is why, when Matthew became a parent to two young toddlers, he struggled a little to change his perspective. “They would have so much fun with this,” his wife had cooed, or “Daddy please can I have that?” his eldest daughter would ask every time she saw a new toy advertisement, her eyes alight with excitement.  

Each time his children asked him for something, he would cringe a little internally. As much of a cynic as he was regarding the holiday season, seeing his children’s eyes light up and their little faces beam with excitement got to him.  

His eldest daughter was only now at the age she could begin to understand Christmas and could start becoming excited about these things. Matthew truly struggled – internally he believed these toys and gifts were a waste of time and money, I mean, why would any three-year-old need a toy vacuum cleaner and matching broom? It was already a nightmare trying to get her to even pick up one of her already-owned toys. He just couldn’t fathom why a toy vacuum cleaner would even appeal to a child so young.  

Although, it might help to instil good practices... Matthew thought.  

Matthew’s eyes had been dimmed to the sparkle of Christmas for so long, he felt a pang whenever he saw Christmas through the eyes of his daughter. Her sense of wonder and amazement was one he hadn’t felt for several years – decades even. After some time, he realised that in some ways, he envied her. He had longed for the gimmicks and magic of Christmas as a young child, before resigning himself to accept his parent’s beliefs.  

As he walked his daughter through the lit-up shopping centre, watching his daughter’s sheer joy, he realised, as many of us do, that he wanted to do differently to his parents.  

He remembered how it hurt for him as a child when his parents would scoff at his glee and excitement over new toys. He remembered the innocence in the appreciation of the magic of the season.   

As he watched his daughter giggle, he decided that he would try and maintain this magic for her as long as he possibly could, so that she wouldn’t have to experience the same disappointment and resignation that he had. So, he decided that from now on he would pull out every stop. 

He reflected a lot, on what would have made him happy as a child, on things his parents could have done, or things he would have appreciated. After increasing his budget for this season significantly, he focused on first helping her write her letter to Santa (something he had done in secret many years as a child, but to no avail). The letters were meticulously crafted – pictures of toys were cut out of catalogues and stuck to the letter – glitter pens were used for that extra bit of magic, and of course, hand-drawn pictures by each of his daughters were added, before the letters were sealed in glittering envelopes and tossed in the fireplace – this was the fastest route to get the letters to Santa, of course! 

He took his daughters through every shop and every catalogue, making extra notes of their favourite things. He brought them to meet Santa and his reindeer (on several occasions). He spent time with them baking Christmas treats and watching awful Christmas tv-shows for children.  

On Christmas eve, after finally getting both of his young children to sleep, Matthew and his wife made their way downstairs to begin assembling all of their children’s gifts from Santa. They laid their children’s presents out in separate areas and were done after several hours of painstaking assembly (why children’s toys are designed so terribly; Matthew will never know).  

Before going to bed to enjoy what would be approximately 2 hours of sleep, Matthew glanced again at the homemade cookies his children had laid out, and the glass of (now lukewarm) milk. He was reminded of their excitement and joy, and again, fighting off the inner cynic in him, decided this simply wasn’t quite special enough. 

Matthew had always been an avid reader, and even to a degree, a writer, so he felt this method calling out to him. He grabbed a piece of paper and set out to tea-staining it, adding some burn marks to the corners for effect. He searched through their old drawers for one of his old, special ink pens, gifted to him a few years back. Employing the finest cursive writing he could, Matthew began constructing his response letter from Santa. He wrote all about how he (Santa) had been so impressed by the girl’s behaviour this year – how the eldest had done so well in her school play, and how she was doing a great job of trying to eat more of her vegetables, and how the youngest was doing a great job of not crying through the night, every night. Once he had finished writing, he added Santa’s signature and laid the letter out carefully in the centre of the table, beside the now finished plate of cookies and glass of milk (Matthew had never liked milk before, and certainly despised it now – he would have to add a note from Santa requesting something different for next year – perhaps a warm whiskey). 

Just as Matthew finished and he and his wife were about to return to bed for a quick nap, they heard the creak of a door opening, followed by the patter of small footsteps. They rushed out before the children could see inside the room, just as their children began calling out to them. Quickly excusing themselves as having just been chatting with Santa, they lifted their children and brought them downstairs. 

Matthew could feel the butterflies in his stomach as he held his hands over his daughter’s eyes, leading them into the room.  

As soon as he lifted his hands off of their eyes, the girls began squealing in delight and rushed to their carefully wrapped gifts.  

That Christmas was truly magical. As exhausted as he was, seeing his children so happy and so excited gave him so much joy too, as if some of the years of magic he had missed out on, were returning to him, too. 

Witnessing their children's delight brought Matthew more joy than he had ever experienced any Christmas before, and suddenly he understood why so many families, so many people, act how they do on Christmas. Regardless of the gimmick, regardless of capitalism and everything else, having something special and doing something special to create this kind of joy, was unmatched. He was surprised to find himself sad at the end of the day, grieving in a way, that the day was over – so he began planning for next Christmas.  

For the rest of his life, Matthew put all his energy and love into Christmas – every year he found new ways to make Christmas special for his children – he spent all his free time leading up to Christmas sourcing the special gifts his children had requested from Santa (even when some gifts cut it close, he somehow managed to source them elsewhere). His children were never disappointed, and even when times might have been difficult, or even when Matthew might have made mistakes, his children always knew how loved they were.