The poem "Twas the Night Before Christmas", penned in 1822 by Clement Clarke Moore, provides one of my earliest, and fondest memories of Christmas past. The memory centers around the reading of this poem by my Paternal Grandmother. It is so vivid that I still remember what the book looked like, and the drawings that accompanied the tale.
Years later, I would revel in the opportunity to read the poem to my daughters before they retired to bed each Christmas Eve.
Which begs the question: Is Santa Claus real? I would argue that yes, he is. Not, of course not, in the conventional sense of a living person. No jolly old elf will be setting out from the North Pole, clad in red, pulled a regal team of reindeer.
What Santa Claus represents, at least for me, is hope. The hope that there is goodness in the world. That there are those who do good deeds simply for the sake of doing them. That we can make the world a better place, through simple acts.