All my childhood I had known Santa Claus to be the one in a red fury coat at the crossroad, a few blocks from my house, lending gifts to kids and wishing people Merry Christmas. Someone who will readily give things to people to make them happy. I remember how much I loved hopping on my toes to ring the bell at the tail of his cap.
But the day I had known that behind that smiling mask and the false grey beard, is just another one of us employed to stand and sway and sing through the day, by the confectioner at the very crossroad to draw people, and that the same Santa at the end of the day in exchange of all the swaying, singing and smiling, shall meet his kid without that mask and beard, as a father, with cakes and candles, who would come crying and say, "Dad, Why didn't Santa come to me?" and like every year, he will wipe his tears and say, "Do not cry son. Santa will definitely come to you next year."; I had known that if Santa really exists and decides to bring things to people, it has to be LIFE and no one else. Because unlike this fictitious Santa who always brings good, this Santa named LIFE has so much to give, always, in unending volumes - be it just happiness or the inevitable sorrow.
Merry Christmas people!
Have a great time.
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