“Sometimes it takes a child to make us understand the great mysteries of life.”

It was just a few weeks prior to Christmas
	When my wife said, "I think it's now time
To talk to your son about Santa.
	Hope your answers are better than mine!"

Well, the thought of the talk made me nervous,
	And I hoped I might postpone the task,
If my boy, maybe, taking no chances
	Might allow one more Christmas to pass.

In case, though, I practiced my story, 
	So gentle, yet forthright and true,
And mentally rehearsed it's message
	To relate if my son gave the cue.

It seemed as though Christmas might go by
	With my speech undelivered, but then,
As I kissed him one night, my son asked me
	To answer a question for him.

"Is there a Santa?" he asked me.
	"Some kids say he's just make believe."
I opened my mouth, full of answers,
	The truth on the youth to bequeath.

But before I could start, he said, "Hold it!
	I'd like to tell you what I think,
And if it's not right, you correct me."
	"That's fine, Son," I said with a wink.

So the boy said, "No person's named Santa.
	He's a thought that just lives in your heart,
But this thought makes you happy at Christmas."
	(And I said to myself, then, "Nice start.")

"But since you can't see things like thoughts though,
	Adults have created a man
Who acts like the feeling of Santa
	So even young kids understand."

He took a big breath when he finished,
	And he questioned me, then, anxiously.
"Is some of that right so far, Daddy,
	Or do you have more to tell me?"

His words made my eyes brim with teardrops.
	It was dark, though, and he couldn't tell,
But my voice cracked a bit when I answered,
	"Not really... you've covered it well."

Now, Christmas that winter was special
	For all, but for me, most, because
That year I'd been finally enlightened
	On the truth about old Santa Claus