Who woulda thunk it? Here I am at Rant 100! For this rant, I have a very special Christmas story guaranteed to warm your heart. I won’t be doing a rant next week as it is Christmas and I need to concentrate on my family and friends. Hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and a happy New Year!

I was busy in the kitchen making hot chocolate for three chilled girls who had just come in from the cold to admire the Christmas tree in the living room while warming up. While I busied myself with retrieving mugs from the cupboard and carefully heating the milk so it didn’t scorch, I heard the children talking about the holiday that was soon approaching.

My daughter, Chrysalis, at eight the oldest of the three, began the conversation: “I sure hope Santa brings me the My Little Pony bike.”

Her friend, who was a couple of months younger than her said, “I want the new Barbie. I hope Santa brings it to me.”

“Santa isn’t going to bring anything because there is no Santa,” said Amethyst, my other daughter, who at six was the youngest of the three.

Recognizing that a debate of great importance was about to take place, I took my time making the hot chocolate. This was something I wanted to hear without disturbing.

“So who brings us all the presents?” asked Chrysalis’ friend.

“It isn’t Santa!” exclaimed Amethyst.

“Well,” said Chrysalis in a serious tone that clearly meant business. “Santa writes us notes every Christmas. I think there is a Santa Claus, and you don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Santa doesn’t write those notes. There is no Santa Claus,” said Amethyst with a smug expression on her face that usually meant she was ready to drop a bomb.

“There is too a Santa!” burst in Chrysalis’ friend.

“Yes there is,” said Chrysalis with an all-knowing tone, “and if you don’t watch it, he won’t bring you any presents.”

“I’ll get presents, all right,” smiled Amethyst shaking her head up and down emphatically.

“No, you won’t!” the other two girls yelled at the same time.

“Yes, I will,” Amethyst replied coolly.

“If there is no Santa, who brings us the presents?” challenged Chrysalis.

“Mom and Dad,” was Amethyst’s reply.

“I don’t think so,” said Chrysalis. “What about the letters? Who writes the letters to us every Christmas?”

“Dad,” said Amethyst with her smug little smile. “And I can prove it!”

“OK, go ahead and prove it,” retorted Chrysalis confident that there was no proof in the world that would undo her belief in Santa Claus.

This challenge had to be met head on. Amethyst trotted off to the girls’ bedroom. We could hear her rummaging around in there as if she was searching for something.

I was just entering the living room with a tray of mugs filled with steaming hot chocolate and some Christmas cookies the girls’ elderly friend, Trudy, had baked for us stacked neatly on the side when Amethyst popped out of the bedroom waving a sheet of paper that was vaguely familiar.

“This is the letter I got last Christmas, right?” Amethyst showed the letter all around and the other girls nodded as they agreed to its authenticity.

“Santa,” she continued, “Did not write this letter. Daddy did.”

“NO!” gasped Chrysalis.

“Yes, he did. Just look at the handwriting. It’s Daddy’s.”

“I don’t think so,” Chrysalis spoke in a worried tone and tried to sound skeptical.

Amethyst ran over to the couch and snatched a letter I had been writing off the arm. She held the two pieces of paper side by side.

“Here,” she said triumphantly, “see for yourself.”

Both girls of the pro Santa faction examined the evidence with care and a large amount of skepticism. You could feel the Christmas excitement in the room deflating like a tire after the nail is extracted. I had to think fast because I knew from experience what was coming next.

“Daddy, are you Santa Claus?” asked Amethyst her serious and penetrating eyes searching my face for the slightest hint of deception.

“Well,” I said pausing to absorb the blow to Christmas and figure a way out of this, “You know Santa has so many kids to visit each year that he has parents help him out.”

“See there is a Santa!” exclaimed a suddenly merry Chrysalis. The room was again bright with Christmas.

“Santa is Daddy,” said Amethyst in an attempt to gain back the ground her iron clad evidence had failed to hold.

“There is a Santa!” squealed the other two girls taking their mugs in their little hands and grabbing cookies from the tray.

And so the debate went for the rest of the afternoon with both sides confident they had won. But it didn’t matter at all, for the spirit of Christmas was still in the house and even a skeptic like Amethyst enjoyed having the spirit there.