Originally posted earlier this month: Bringing this back up for the holiday. Merry Christmas!

I’m two months away from becoming a first-time biological father, and I’ve come to an important decision. As early as I can, I’m going to tell my son the truth about Santa Claus.

He’s real, and I don’t see why I should shelter my son from that truth.

My parents sheltered me from the truth, and when I grew up and learned Santa Claus was real, I was upset. How could they have deceived me throughout my childhood? No such thing as Santa Claus? What's next? There's no such thing as hope, or compassion or tenderness?

Santa Claus is the one who, every year, replenishes warehouses when thieves steal toys from charities. Yes, sir, I’ve seen it happen. He helps hundreds of volunteers wake up during the last month of the year to fix plates of hot food for people who can't afford one. He’s behind countless acts of generosity, sympathy and understanding.

As I grew older, I realized that all those things are really real, and that’s when I learned that Santa Claus does exist.

No, that's not really him ringing a bell beside a kettle outside malls and superstores. Those are his helpers. Santa's the one filling the kettles.

The sober reality of life is that Santa Claus can't make every dream come true, not even the Christmas dreams. No one can do that. But Santa Claus taught me that it’s okay to dream, and I want him to teach the same thing to my son when the time is right.

So my son will grow up knowing the truth about Santa Claus. I’m not ashamed to say it. Santa’s real, and I, for one, still believe.

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