Blind Faith.

***Some of you may find this ridiculous. Many may be offended. Some may not get the message. Either way, it isn't my intention to offend anyone. I have my beliefs, you have yours. I still love you. This is just another writing activity.***



Forget everything you ever knew about Santa Claus.
What if I told you Santa Claus was real?

When I was eleven, I was in a desperate place. I was a greedy little child. I felt like the world revolved around me. Every eleven year old thinks that way, right?

I was walking alone in the dark alley I called home. It was behind a line of restaurants. I chose this place because it was my only hope for eating. Do you have any idea how much food is thrown away each night in these dark alleys, left for scavenging animals? You would be amazed.

Or you wouldn’t care. The average American doesn’t think much about those who go without.

I spent my days in a park. I sat on the benches in my dirty clothes, with my ratty hair, and no one ever approached me. Were they afraid? Of an eleven year old girl? Or did they just turn the other cheek, assuming my parents just didn’t care?

Maybe that was the truth. Maybe they didn’t care. Who were my parents? I didn’t remember them. I had been alone as long as I could remember. But an eleven year old’s memory doesn’t go back that far. Who knows where I came from.

I was sitting in the park one day, when a mother brought her two small children to play. I wasn’t sure of their ages, but I could see the mother was trying to keep them away from me.

A woman walking a dog stopped to let the children pet it. The little girl looked up to her mommy and said “Mommy, do you think Santa will bring me a puppy for Christmas?”

The woman thought for a moment before answer. “Put a puppy on your wish list when we get home, and we’ll see what Santa Claus thinks, okay?”

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I couldn’t stop thinking about “Santa Claus”. Who was this person? What was Christmas?

Most important, he’s who you go to, to get what you want?

I did my rounds that night sluggishly. I knew so little about life, and yet I fought for my own. Would I ever have a mother such as theirs? One that may someday buy me a puppy?

I went to bed that night, and talked to him. I looked up into the stars, and imagined what Santa Claus looked like, and imagined that he was staring back at me.

I asked him for a warm place to sleep. I asked him for someone to care about me. I asked him for brothers and sisters. I asked him to give me something, anything, to push me forward. Give me a reason to live in this world.

I heard nothing.

I woke the next morning to a shadow hovering over me. A man stared down at me with confusion. He was wearing a suit, and there were cops standing behind him.

Was I in trouble? My first instinct was to run, but something told me that was a bad idea.

“What’s your name young lady?” The man asked.

“Sarah.”

“Do you have a last name, Sarah?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I admitted, ashamed.

The man turned and looked at the two cops. The cops shook their head simultaneously.

“I’m going to need you to come with me.” The man ordered, and extended his hand to help me to my feet. I followed.

I was taken to the police station and asked several questions. Such as; who are my parents, where did I come from, what’s the last thing I remember. And so on.

I knew the answer to none of these. I knew my first name, and I wasn’t even sure if I was right about that. It was the first thing that came to mind.

They realized they were getting nowhere with questioning me.

“We’re going to take you to a place with some other kids just like you, is that okay?”

Other kids?
“Sure.” I said, my excitement showing.

The kids in this place accepted me. I was one of them. They didn’t look at me like they wanted to run away like the kids in the part. They were my friends.

Until my mother and father came. Well, my new mother and father.

They took me home with them. They had two other kids. I had a brother and a sister. I had a family. Something I dreamed of, but never thought was possible.

I had my own room. The walls were pink, with a matching blanket on my white bed.

I had a television. I had art supplies.

I had food. Food that wasn’t the garbage restaurants thought wasn’t good enough for its customers. A real, home cooked meal.

Most importantly, I was loved. I was a part of something wonderful. I was happy.

I had Santa to thank for that. I asked him, and he gave me all of this.

People tried to tell me he wasn’t real over the years. That he was a fairy tale. Just some guy someone made up. A symbol of Christmas.

I don’t believe them.

In my time of need, I asked him for help, and all of this happened. How could I deny that it was him? I would be a fool to not believe. I would not betray by denying him.

The end.
Silly, silly girl?
Wrong.
It’s called blind faith.
Look around. It’s everywhere.

They believe in God.

© 2009 Amanda Harris