Honest Magic
A short 21st century, Miracle on 34th Street sort of tale
Long before I had a child, in the era of arrogance when one dreams of being that parent who will finally do everything “right,” I contemplated whether or not I would raise my child with holidays. Between the consumerism and religious overtones, I didn’t want to pass on values I don’t embrace; but then again, I didn’t want to deprive a child of the mysticism and magic of Hanukkah and Christmas.
While talking with a friend about the pros and cons of raising children with holidays, she said her dad would create reindeer footprints in the house and make sounds on the roof of Santa’s sleigh. Her eyes sparkled with splendor in relieving those memories. I wanted to make a child’s eyes light up like hers. The thought bubble over my head became crowded with everything I had read, from classic literature to psychology, about the importance of igniting a child’s imagination. The stories she shared convinced me to introduce my child to Santa. This also taught me how important it is that we share our stories of wonder, for we never know who we might inspire.
When my beloved daughter came along, I wanted to bring magic into her life without lying to her; so I explained the historical relevance of Santa, that he was based on a real man, Saint Nicolas, and that the current Santa was a symbol of Christmas spirit. I took her to a mall to have her picture taken with Santa, who would write on a piece of paper the item the child said they wanted for Christmas, hand it to the photographer, and if you paid for the over-priced photo package, you received the piece of paper with your child’s wish. When I read the piece of paper, I asked myself what kind of pandora’s box did I just enter. My child’s wish had two words on it: “World Peace.” She was four.
(Photo: Santa turning to look at my daughter when she asked for world peace as a her Christmas gift. She went on to tell him about a card she had made for him but forgotten to bring)
Another Christmas rolled around, and we stood in line for a photo with Santa; my daughter was none too pleased. Not only did she not receive the gift of world peace that she asked for, but she informed me that this was not the same Santa as the one she took a picture with last year. I knew she was right because last year’s Santa had introduced himself to me by saying, “I’m Terry. The Santa Terry Santa.” This year’s mall Santa appeared a bit less “sanitary.” My daughter confronted me, “Is this some random man whose lap you were going to allow me to sit on?” to which I could only reply, “Who wants to go to Build-A-Bear?” There were no more trips to Santa after that. However, he remained the symbol for Christmas who worked within each parent’s personal budget, which is how we were able to explain to our curious daughter why Santa couldn’t simply pay all our bills.
Around that time, our daughter lost her first tooth. We explained the tooth fairy to her. She said, “Instead of leaving money under my pillow, may I ask her to leave a flower instead?” “Sure,” we said. “Why don’t you write her a note.”
The note read something to this effect,
“Dear Tooth Fairy,
I prefer flowers to money,
but I understand if you leave neither
because I’m keeping my tooth.
Why are you collecting children’s teeth anyway?
That’s creepy.
If I give you my tooth,
you might be able to clone me.
No thank you.”
At this point, I had failed to bring childhood wonder into her life via the weird collector of DNA that is the tooth fairy and Santa, whose theme song sounded like instructions on how to be a stalker, who knows when you are sleeping and knows when you’re awake. I was considering throwing in the towel, when a tiny gentleman named Smith arrived and filled our lives with years of magic and wonder. Smith was an Elf on the Shelf. For as much as our daughter rejected the tooth fairy and dubious mall Santas, she loved all things fairy, mermaid, and miniature.
My daughter is immunocompromised, and one Christmas was spent in the hospital where Smith kept vigilant watch over her. The fact that he would be in one creative and precarious location at night and somewhere completely new the next morning sparked her interest. That he required nothing of her in exchange for his presence, was the kind of Christmas magic she could embrace, as she had always resented the conditional love that Santa’s naughty/nice policy incited. She loved Smith so much that she asked if he could come on her birthday as well as the month of December. Thus began the tradition of birthday visits from Smith, her Elf on the Shelf, who would dress in a yellow birthday cupcake suit and bring a teeny tiny, scrolled birthday wish.
For her seventh birthday, we were in Chicago and our daughter was worried that Smith wouldn’t be able to find her; so we stayed at the Silversmith hotel in hopes that he would find her through his namesake. We decided to take a walk to view Macy’s annual holiday window displays which were placed surprisingly early that year, when lo and behold, who was there to greet us but Smith, our daughter’s Elf on the Shelf dressed in his traditional Christmas attire. This was one of the most magical moments my daughter remembers of her childhood; for when we arrived back to the hotel, who was there to there to greet us again? Smith of course, in his yellow cupcake birthday costume with a teeny tiny birthday scroll, wishing our daughter a happy birthday. Her parents were with her the entire time and so she knew we had nothing to do with this delightful, unexpected appearance of Smith, in two wardrobe changes and locations over the course of one hour.
Our daughter is a bit older now. Over the years she has asked me about the verity of Smith. I answer each question the same, “I will tell you anything you want to know, but removing the mystery may remove the magic.” She then responds, “Don’t tell me. I know you and Daddy play a role in all this, but I still enjoy the magic.” We remind her that on that Chicago holiday, we were as surprised to see Smith as she was. His presence that day was a modern Miracle on 34th Street moment of honest magic.
If you’d like to hear me tell this story, please check out the link below; I had the honor of being the closing guest on this wonderful podcast (I come in around the 31 minute mark). I recommend listening to the entire episode. I was smiling the whole time I was listening to each positive story and the BEAUTIFUL music. Enjoy the 3rd ANNUAL HOLIDAYS GONE GOOD PODCAST. Thank you for reading, listening and supporting my work. May all your holiday celebrations be bright and may you have a new year filled with an abundance of health, wealth, wisdom, and joy.
Sage Justice is achingly sincere. Balancing wisdom and humor she most often writes deeply personal solution based pieces about the enduring virtues that connect us all: love and healing. She is an award-winning playwright and critically acclaimed performing artist who has appeared on stages from Madison Square Garden in New York City, to The Comedy Store in Hollywood, California. Ms. Justice is the author of Sage Words FREEDOM Book One, an activist, a member of the Screen Actors Guild and an alumna Artist-In-Residence of Chateau Orquevaux, France. She is a co-founder of The Unity Project which fuses activism with art, to educate and inspire, with a special emphasis on community engagement to end homelessness. She has a series of short reels about living with the rare genetic disorder, Vascular Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome that you can find in a highlight reel on her Instagram page @SageWords2027.