What has happened to me has been the very reverse of what appears to be the experience of most of
my friends. Instead of dwindling to a point, Santa Claus has grown larger and larger in my life until he
fills almost the whole of it. It happened in this way.
As a child I was faced with a phenomenon requiring explanation. I hung up at the end of my bed an
empty stocking, which in the morning became a
full stocking. I had done nothing to produce the things
that filled it. I had not worked for them, or made them or helped to make them. I had not even been
good
–
far from it.
And the explanation was that a certain being whom people called Santa Claus was
benevolently
disposed toward me. What we believed was that a certain benevolent agency did give us those toys for
nothing. And, as I say, I believe it still.
I have merely extended the idea.
Then I only wondered who put the toys in the stocking; now I wonder who put the stocking by the bed,
and the bed in the room, and the room in the house, and the house on the planet, and the great planet
in the void.
Once I only thanked Santa Claus for a few dolls and crackers, now, I thank him for stars and street faces
and wine and the great sea.
Once I thought it delightful and astonishing to find a present so big that it only went halfway into the
stocking. Now I am delighted and astonished every morning to find a present so big that it takes two
stockings to hold it, and then leaves a great deal
outside; it is the large and preposterous present of
myself, as to the origin of which I can offer no suggestion except that Santa Claus gave it to me in a fit of
peculiarly fantastic goodwill
-excerpted from an article in Black and White written in 1903 called "My Experiences with Santa Claus", and reprinted in the London Tablet in 1974
H/T to the St. Louis Chesterton Society
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