Childhood Christmas memory reveals a skeptic’s doubts

The American poet Muriel Rukeyser wrote that “the universe is made of stories, not atoms.” That statement may seem a bit whimsical but nonetheless, it expresses the idea that stories are the heart of the human experience.

It was once believed that humans left drawings on cave walls in France about 33,000 years ago, but recently it was reported that drawings were found in Indonesian caves with pictures telling the story of hunters and animals. This finding pushed the drawings back over 40,000 years.

American writer William Faulkner said that American troops wrote “Kilroy was here” on cave walls of Europe in World War II to prove that somebody had been there, a primary motivation for many writers to leave a legacy.

Telling stories is a primary impulse of our life on this planet, and hearing them is what enables us to reach across time and understand the ties which bind us into a human family that transcends time and space.

When I read any story, I remind myself of what a wise teacher once cautioned. He said you can ask of any story whether it is true or false. He lamented that too many people dismiss a story if they find it unreal (meaning it happened in the writer’s imagination but not in the real world). But he then said there was another way to respond to any story, not ending with asking if it is true or false, but rather truths the story conveys.

Take one story told at Christmas. Does anyone other than young children believe there is an elf who rides around in a sleigh on Christmas Eve bringing gifts to millions of youngsters? Probably not, but the truths behind the story convey the importance of giving and receiving gifts, of joy in a world sadly lacking it. And while many don’t know the history, the real St. Nicholas was a Turkish monk who became the patron saint of children and later sailors. He gave away his wealth to others and served the poor and sick.

There are many traditions celebrated during this time of year, most dealing with finding reasons to rejoice — light out of darkness, giving out of taking, hope out of despair. And there are many family stories about this time of the year, one I recall in my family.

I’m fond of this wisdom often attributed to Mark Twain: “When I was 14, I believed my father didn’t know anything, but when I turned 21, I was amazed at how much he had learned in seven years.”

Early on, I doubted there was a Santa Claus at all, but kept my thoughts to myself thinking if I confessed my skepticism, I wouldn’t get any presents.

Every Christmas Eve, Santa would come to our front door bringing a few presents. I began to be suspicious when I realized Santa has a slightly British accent like my father. And the two of them never appeared together. When Santa arrived, my father was upstairs in his office.

One Christmas Eve, I decided to out the jolly elf. When he came to the door, I went to the bottom of our stairs and called out to my father to come down, fully expecting him not to show. Imagine my surprise when he came down the stairs and stood next to Santa. My father told me later that I looked back and forth between the two of them, shock on my face. Later, I found out my father had a neighbor dress up as Santa and come to the door.

The power of that childhood story remains with me. teaching me to suspend the skeptic long enough to remember there are some things beyond reason that can only be understood by a child. Sometimes it’s not as important to quibble about what’s true or not but simply enter into the story to feel the mystery therein if not explain it.