Real or Not, We Believe In Magic

This may be the year our oldest son, Robert, discovers the truth about Santa Claus.

The other day, he told Robyn that he thinks Mickey Mouse is just someone in a mouse costume. “Mickey isn’t real,” he said, with both pride at figuring it out and a touch of sadness for what it meant. And of course, Santa Claus is the next mythology he’s bound to question.

But aren’t Mickey and Santa real—because the magic they represent is real?

There was awe and wonder in the moment our family stood together watching the Fantasmic show and fireworks over Cinderella’s Castle. Robert, in a full measure of his three-year-old earnestness, looked up at us, his eyes gleaming in the dark, and said:

“I am the magic.”

We all felt it—our kids and us, as full-grown adults. That was magic, and it was real.

There is magic on Christmas morning, as there has been every year of my life, because it’s tradition. And when presents appear under the trees of families struggling to pay their bills—gifts from anonymous strangers—what else can we call it but magic?

Mickey Mouse and Santa Claus aren’t real in the same way George Washington or the Grand Canyon are real. They are symbols. They’ve only ever existed as symbols.

But the magic they create is real. The beliefs and ethos they carry are real. Maybe asking if they are real isn’t even the right question.

The better question is: do we believe?

Do we believe in what they represent?

Do we want to be part of the magic they create?

If so, does it really matter whether they are real or imagined?

And isn’t the same true for so many other things that aren’t tangible? For liberalism or capitalism—philosophies that only exist if people believe in them, yet have unlocked freedom and prosperity for billions? What about the fables and legends we pass down through generations, like our grandparents’ sacrifices in war—or even Star Wars? For God and faith traditions? For virtue and character?

Maybe these things are “real” like a rock is real, maybe not. Maybe as symbols they are real, maybe not.

What matters to me is the magic they create. That, if nothing else, is real.

So when my son asks me if Santa is “real,” I think I’ll tell him: Real is not the point. Real or not, I believe in Santa Claus, in Mickey Mouse, and in all the other beautiful, wonderful, magical things that make life meaningful.

And when I tell him that, I hope he realizes that even if it’s not real, it’s okay to believe in magic. And maybe one day, he’ll share the same thing to his own kid.