There was once a little boy called Gianni. His parents were very open-minded, very non-conservative, great believers in all sorts of liberties. Every day the little boy watched the news with them. By the age of three he knew all about terrorism, kidnapping, random school shootings. At night they read to him newspaper articles, so he was ‘aware’ of the world around him.
When Gianni was four, he started coming back home from schools with stories about Father Christmas and elves and flying reindeers. “No Gianni,” his mother said sternly. “There is no cosy log cabin at the North Pole. Vixen, Cupid and Dancer do not exist, nor do the elves.”
His father nodded. They had discussed this many a time as a couple. Magic was not real and there was no way they were going to let their little Gianni-boy believe in it.
“No bearded white-bearded old man laughing ho-ho-ho will come through your window in the dead of night to give you presents at Christmas.” They boy’s face fell but Gianni’s parents looked at each other smugly, safe in the knowledge that their son will not grow with a psychological trauma of having believed in otherworldly stuff.
Having the power to believe in life is something very important
No fairy-tale books were allowed in the house, in fact on their bookshelves there was not even a whiff of fairy godmothers, tales starring talking animals, or wizards and witches. Only books about 101 facts and the true scientific view of the world.
Once Gianni had got attached to one of his cuddly toys: he gave it a name and a voice and would not sleep without it. His mother, sighed, took him gently by the hand, got a tiny scissors, made a tiny incision and showed him the woollen stuffing. “Look Gian – this is not real. It does not have organs, so it cannot speak.” The boy first stared at his beloved cuddly toy, and then at his mother, wide-eyed.
The parents stuck to their pragmatic approach. They were resolute they did not want to dwell in the selfish desire to re-live in their own childhood. They had to be the guardians of wisdom and facts. They had a debate about whether they should celebrate Christmas at all because after all, they were not 100 per cent sure that the Bible was a veritable source of historical facts. In the end they decided to put up a Christmas tree and celebrate the day as a winter festivity. They patted themselves on the back, each time they stomped on their son’s imagination. He’d grow up into a fine young man. If a joyless one.
■ Further down the street, in a house not far from Gianni’s there lived a girl, called Cikka. Christmas was her favourite time of the year. To her, it was a feeling as close to magic as possible. Come December 25, she would wake up with a joyful glimpse of a suddenly full Christmas stocking hanging from the bedroom door.
“There are many miracles that happen in the world, many things that cannot be explained, many things that seem impossible, but which do actually happen,” her mother told her. “Which is why we believe in God although we cannot see him and we don’t know exactly what form he takes.”
Cikka’s parents encouraged her to keep an open mind and to believe in things that cannot necessarily be understood. “It helps us to have a strong imagination, to come up with ideas, to learn to question things, to explore life and the world, and to believe that good is always the winner over evil in the end,” said her father.
One day, when she was six or seven, she came home upset because Gianni from down the road had called her stupid at school because she believed in Santa. Her mother was stacking the food in the fridge, and she did not stop for one millisecond. “Father Christmas is real only if you believe. Gianni does not, so of course, he is right: to him he cannot be real.”
Her parents told her that one of the most important things St Nicholas taught us all is to believe in goodness and kindness: the good in the world, the kindness in people and that when people are in need, others will be there to help them. Having the power to believe in life, in yourself, in your friends, your family, in the possibility of magic and miracles is something very important in life, they told her.
Cikka grew up. Deep down, her belief in magic always stayed. Obviously, as she went through the ups and downs of her life, it gave her no protection against loneliness, melancholy and grief. But it gave her one great tool: optimism. She grew up to celebrate the spirit of St Nicholas and passed it on to her children and her children passed it on to theirs. And the world had a jot more joy in it.
Suggested reading if you are Gianni: ‘A Wonderful Lie’, The Lancet Psychiatry, December 2016.
Suggested reading if you are Cikka: A Boy Called Christmas by Matt Haig and The Polar Express by Chris Van Allsburg.
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Twitter: @KrisChetcuti