(David Sedaris has a brilliant and hilarious essay on the Dutch notions of St.
That mystery kept us going for another year or two.
Lo and behold, that year both our parents were peacefully seated in the living room with us when the box of presents arrived. This was the pattern until my brother and I realized that one of our parents always happened to be out of the room when the banging on the door occurred, a fact we discussed in secret and slyly let drop the following Dec. Sometimes we’d hear the sound of receding hoofbeats. My brother and I would rush to open the door, where we would find a box filled with presents. Suddenly we’d be interrupted by a great banging on the front door. After putting out our shoes filled with carrots for Sinterklaas’ horse - he arrived on horseback, on a boat from Spain - we would all sit around the fireplace (or the wall heater when we lived in small apartments), drinking hot chocolate and singing songs about Sinterklaas’ uncanny ability to distinguish good kids from bad. But we also observed the Dutch tradition of welcoming Sinterklaas - St. In my family, Christmas was a religious holiday: church, the reading of the Gospel story about the birth of Christ, the jollity extending perhaps to a festive family meal. Parents warn their older siblings not to tease them about how silly it is to believe in flying reindeer and fat men sliding down the chimney.
These kids write elaborate letters to Santa with complete mastery of the five-paragraph-essay format. There is another type of kid that clings to the idea of a benevolent, magical deliverer of gifts, long after the age of reason in other matters. These kids ask their parents questions such as: “He couldn’t really visit everyone in the world in one night, could he?” and “Aren’t you really Santa Claus?” There are loads of kids brought up with the idea of Santa Claus - or some version of Father Christmas - who start doubting his existence early on.
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