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By Leslie Miklosy

My name is Bobby. My dad has been raising my brothers and sisters and me by himself since our mom passed away. It’s hard for him, but I think he’s doing a great job.

I just started going to school not long ago and I’m trying to do my best, like my dad keeps telling me to do.

It’s getting close to Christmas. Some of the kids at school say there is no Santa Claus, that our parents pretend there is, and actually they give us the gifts.

I don’t want to believe it. My dad tells us how those nice presents that appear under the tree are brought by Santa Claus. He lands on our roof the night before Christmas with his reindeer sled, climbs down the chimney with his big bag of toys and leaves a gift for every one of us. He then goes back up the chimney and rides off to the next roof, and the one after that, on and on.

Here’s my question: How come we never hear any noise during the night? And how is he able to get just the right toy for each of us … like Emily’s doll she’d been wanting, or Matt’s soccer ball, or Andrew’s Lego set.

My dad says that because I’m old enough to be in school now, I should know that Santa Claus is smart and clever: smart enough to pick the toys we like, with Mrs. Santa and many elves helping him, and clever enough to bring them without us knowing.

But what about this business of flying around in a sled full of toys and stuff, pulled by a bunch of reindeer? How come we never catch him up in the sky on the news, like a UFO?

I’m asking too many questions — and thinking too much — my dad says.

Well, that’s what they teach us in school, I say right back to him: to think for ourselves.

And how come we all get presents, including my brother Tommy, who’s always getting in trouble? Didn’t he tell us we’d only get stuff if we were good?

That’s when he gives me that look, like I’m bugging him too much and I should stop.

Just be glad, he says, that you get something under the Christmas tree.

I don’t know about that. Why would he tell us that, if it wasn’t true?

My dad wants me to learn as much as I can, and to be a good person. But why would he tell me a story that’s not true?

It’s not easy, and sometimes I get confused. What am I supposed to do? 

Then I get an idea.

I get a piece of paper and pencil and start writing a letter to Santa Claus.

Dear Santa,

Please don’t bring me that red toy truck I’ve been asking for. I changed my mind. I want something else.

As my present, I want you to have what you always wanted. You give everybody else a gift except for you. Well, that’s what I want, that you get what you want. Can I ask for that?

Your good friend,
Bobby

I write “The North Pole” on the envelope and give it to my dad to mail.

Christmas Day, I wake up and my dad is looking at me with tears in his eyes and a big smile on his face.

— Leslie Miklosy

Leslie Miklosy enjoys wordplay and the vain pursuit of answers to life’s larger questions. His interests include storytelling, mythology, psychotherapy, and comedy. His latest book is Out of My Mind: Quotations that Delight, Dazzle, and Confound. This piece first appeared in the November/December 2023 issue of Mensa Bulletin, the national magazine for members of American Mensa.