A true and enduring Santa story

Merry Christmas.

I am a mother.

I am now a grandmother ... finally.

And I’ll eventually find out what my only child, Patrick, and his wife, Becca, plan to tell their year-old son, the mighty Magnus, about Santa Claus.

My sisters claim I told them a fairy tale every night when we were little, always filled with golden apples, witches and happy endings.

But Santa was for real. No fairy tale to me.

I was in third grade and expecting the “good fairy” to leave cash under my pillow in exchange for my priceless tooth, when I popped the coin question to my mother while brushing my teeth.

You can guess what happened.

The truth. What a nightmare!

So while sobbing and blobbing my fluoridated teeth with Ipana toothpaste, I cornered my mother with THE ultimate question!

Is there a Santa?

Poor Mom.

This time she sat me on her lap in our tiny bathroom, which led me to expect no coins under my pillow in the morning, and well, you know, there would be no sled parked on our roof in December.

But there were coins the next morning (although never again). And “Santa” kept coming for a very long time.

Long gone is my dream of being an “Auntie Mame” to my grandchildren, taking them on adventures and telling them tall tales. Too long in the tooth now, even if it’s fluoridated.

But I figure I’m still capable of bringing a little Christmas magic to my grandson in this era of everything known; purchase by click; and talk by text.

I hope to eventually tell him of my late friend, Steve Crews, and his son, Sam; a true Santa story I first wrote about decades ago.

As one of my beloved editors once said: “Sneed. A good story is worth retelling.”

It’s about a boy named Sam who wanted to know if Santa was real.

He was 8 years old when he asked his father.

Sam’s dad, an outrageously funny raconteur and Chicago journalist, had an answer.

But when his son went to bed, Steve also wrote a letter hoping to make Sam’s transition from Santa land to Earth as painless as possible.

I titled Steve’s letter “Sam, I Am.”

“Dear Sam,

“Your dad stayed up last night to tell me that you now know as much about me as I do about you.

“Well, good.

“I’m glad you asked. And don’t worry, no child ever really leaves me. Ask your mom. Ask your dad.

“They know I don’t live in the North Pole (too cold). They know I don’t ride in a sleigh (too dangerous). Still, they love me, and so will you, even 50 years from now.

“Oh, and what do you think happened last night just as you were asking about me?

“Why, a baby was born out in Kalispell, Montana.

“That’s right, just as you were putting aside your belief, a brand-new child was born who can put it to good use.

“So long as that keeps happening, I’ll never be out of a job.

“Sam, I want to wish you a wonderful life. If you don’t mind, I will continue to drop by on future Christmases, just to make sure you’re OK.

“Love, Santa

“P.S. Remember, you don’t have to believe in me to know I am there.”

Several years ago, I printed Sam’s response after his dad died.

“I remember going into dad’s bedroom the night before Christmas and discovering Santa’s Christmas note — written in dad’s handwriting.

“In our family, there was always a note from Santa left on the table by the Christmas tree on Christmas morning.

“So I asked Dad if Santa was real.

“Dad paused and then he said: ‘Do you mean physically?’

“So I guess that answered that, so I went to bed.

“In the morning, I found a note on the table next to the tree like always. But it was a beautiful letter.

“I cried. Even then I knew it was special.

“My interpretation then, I believe, was basically my father was Santa. But it was in a way a kind of goodbye letter.

“Now I can understand that just because there is no Santa doesn’t mean there is no magic. And just because it was magic created by my parents didn’t make it any less special.

“Dad was proud of that letter, and I think he felt the Santa letter had redeemed him because he felt he hadn’t done a good job on Christmas Eve explaining Santa’s existence to me.

“I still remember every word, but mostly I remembered his reference to the baby born in Kalispell, Montana. Where did he come up with that?

“It was just so Dad.

“I’ll admit I don’t know how a parent deals with the Santa story without kids feeling it’s the ultimate betrayal.

“Dad was all about creating magic for his kids. My sister, Meredith, and me. That was my Dad. A magic maker.

You are so right, Sam.

I miss his magic, too.