Every December, Santa Claus returns—in the malls, in school plays, in whispered hopes of children. Some argue that the old man in red has outlived his purpose in a world obsessed with realism and efficiency. But perhaps that’s precisely why Santa’s presence remains so essential. He is more than a Christmas mascot; he is a keeper of wonder, a symbol of generosity, and a gentle guide through childhood’s most formative lessons.

When I was still a reporter decades ago, I had the rare chance to meet the “real Santa Claus”—a gentle visitor from Lapland who even carried a passport bearing the name Santa Claus. He was in Manila on a goodwill visit as a guest of a hotel and mall chain. He radiated the same warmth and patience you might imagine from the mythical figure himself. I sat with him long after the interview ended because to me then, and I still remember now, he brought me the joy of childhood Christmas.

Curious, I asked him which child’s wish had touched his heart the most. He paused, the playfulness in his eyes softening, and told me about a small boy who had climbed onto his knee—not to ask for toys, but to plead for his mother to get well from a serious illness. That simple, selfless wish stayed with him, he said, as a reminder of what truly matters to children when the world grows frightening.

When I asked if he might send my young son a Christmas greeting, he didn’t hesitate. A few days later, a fax—yes, a fax!—arrived with Santa’s message. It was a charming, slightly smudged note that brought my son so much joy. And to me, it was proof that Santa’s magic isn’t only for children. It touches adults, too, in unexpected ways.

He touched me with his thoughtfulness and concern for children, commenting on a scene which he encountered around Metro Manila – sleeping infants held by people begging on the road. He suggested that I do stories that would encourage a law that will prohibit such acts that endanger the lives and health of infants.

I saw the real Santa Claus several times after that interview, and he gave me a souvenir of what he had made – a necklace charm of a bear – which is still in my jewelry box today. The following year, I met Santa Claus again walking out of a function room in a hotel – holding a large sack over his shoulders – leaving behind a crowd enchanted by his presence. He remembered me, said hello, and mentioned that a non-government organization (NGO) based in Norway had sponsored his trip back. Until today, as a grandmother of four, I still tell that story about meeting the real Santa Claus because I still remember the magic that I felt in his presence.

Children’s belief in Santa is rarely just about presents. It’s a first brush with imagination and the pleasure of mystery. Even as they grow older and begin connecting the dots, that transition becomes its own lesson—a gentle introduction to critical thinking, empathy, and the bittersweet realization that stories can be true in spirit even if not literal in fact.

At the heart of Santa’s story lies a message the modern world desperately needs: giving brings joy. Children learn that kindness can be magical, and that gifts are most meaningful when they’re chosen with thought and love. In a season often overshadowed by commercial frenzy, Santa refocuses us on the simple delight of giving without expecting anything in return.

Santa’s tales offer a soft framework for understanding right and wrong: kindness matters, actions carry meaning, and the world rewards goodness. It’s morality delivered not through fear, but aspiration.

I don’t keep Santa alive to mislead my grandchildren. I keep him because he creates a sanctuary of wonder in a world that grows up too fast. His stories give families reasons to slow down and share traditions that become lifelong memories.

My encounter with the “real Santa” taught me something important: Santa endures not because of sleighs or chimneys, but because he embodies a truth we instinctively hope our children will carry with them—that goodness exists, and that the simple act of caring for others can change the world, even if only for one Christmas morning.

And that is a gift worth preserving. (Email: [email protected])