Yes, Katie, There Is a Santa Claus

Dear Katie,

I hear you’ve been bragging to your sister that there’s no such thing as Santa Claus--that such a person couldn’t possibly exist.

You were asked by Mom to spare your little sister this newly acquired knowledge--”Let her believe a little while longer.”

Katie, I’m here to tell you that there is a Santa Claus, and I know it for sure because I’ve seen him, and spoke to him, and told him that the only gift I want this year is to get home and see you and Michelle and Keith and Jeff and Mom. I told Santa the same for my shipmates and our Marines in this Amphibious Task Force steaming in the Persian Gulf.

I told Santa that if he would take care of my wish, I’d never stop believing in him, like I did when I was your age.

You see, Katie, out here so far from home, people celebrate Christmas with a spirit I’ve missed since I was a kid like you. There’s a huge Santa on our sister ship’s port gun mount, and someone made him a big pair of sunglasses so Santa’s eyes wouldn’t burn from the blinding sunlight.

When for so many years I’ve neglected to see Santa myself, I see him everywhere out here. I saw Santa in Bahrain with Christian carolers singing “Silent Night” to an audience of long-robed Arab Muslims.

He was pierside delivering packages to the ship’s crew--”Don’t Open Until Christmas.” Katie, I’ve seen Santa’s sled outlined against the biggest moon you’ve ever seen. I’ve felt him in the air.

Our ship’s sensitive collection equipment has picked up reindeer “chatter.” It’s classified, but I can tell you this: The reindeer have gotten over their colds, and Santa is glad because he has so many gifts to deliver this year.

Katie, these days bring some difficult things for Dad and all the other troops on this ship to think about. But the happiness that is Christmas, and the joy of Santa Claus, makes me feel close to you--because if we both believe in all the same thing, Katie, then I’m really not very far away at all.

Still, I think of your school plays, Saturday afternoon soccer games, the flat tire on Michelle’s bike that I didn’t have time to fix.

I think of Mom. Our last meal together, and how she kept tears hidden behind a big smile.

I think about you opening your presents on Christmas Day--the look in your eyes and how I’ll miss that so badly.

But, Katie, I don’t feel sad--because, in a way, this is the best Christmas I ever had. I found Santa Claus, and he told me if I believed in him, we’d all be together again very soon.

Merry Christmas,

Dad

Persian Gulf, 1990