"Well!

Don't you look spiffy? Who tied your bow for you?"

Griz looked

straight ahead, scowling, as usual. His dour expression

contrasted with the bright red ribbon cascading from his

furry neck. "I'm surprised," I pressed on,

"knowing how skeptical you are about the whole

Christmas thing."

The little

bear's eyes sparked a warning. Then he let loose.

"It's all so phony!" he expostulated.

"It's so materialistic. It's all Santa Claus and

getting. It's so... so American! What's standing in line

for Beanie Babies and Pokie-whatsis got to do with the

Christmas message?"

He paused

for a breath, and I grabbed the opportunity. "Calm

down, little guy. Your nose is going to leak stuffing if

you get too riled up." He ignored me. "They're

right, people who don't let their kids believe in Santa

Claus," he went on. "Don't tell me you believe?

For that matter, are you into that whole

baby-in-the-manger legend? That's just so lame. "If

I was God, and I was going to change the world, would I

send a baby that can't even hold its head up? To a barn?

Give me a break. The whole thing's a farce. People are so

gullible!"

"Good

grief, little fellow!" I picked him up to sooth him,

but he squirmed from my arms and landed on the comforter.

"For openers, don't you think it's ironic, you

ridiculing fantasy? How do you explain our talking like

this? If anyone heard me, they'd put me away.

"I

believe in you, plus a lot of other things I don't fully

understand. You don't have to be able to prove something

to believe in it."

"Like

what?" Griz demanded.

"Like

the Internet and what makes airplanes fly - and

Santa Claus. Santa Claus is every bit as real as the love

a parent feels for a child - certainly more real

than a talking teddy bear!"

"Then

why won't some people let their kids write letters to the

North Pole, and...."

"First

of all, Griz, I know who you're talking about, and that's

her business, not ours. She thinks it's more important

that the emphasis of Christmas be on the coming of God to

earth." "Which is just about as

preposterous," the little brown bear snorted.

"Some

God, whimpering in a pile of hay. How does she expect her

kids to believe a fairy tale no one's ever seen, but not

believe in a guy they see every time they go to the

mall?"

"I

can't honestly answer that question, Griz," I mused.

"But people wiser than you or I have questioned

exactly what did happen way back then and came to the

conclusion that SOMETHING happened, for sure.

"We

don't even know if we've got the date right, but

something happened that made us divide history into two

parts. Something happened that we acknowledge every time

we look at a coin or sign a document. Something happened

that affected the way people make laws, and..."

"Whoa,

whoa, whoa - waitaminit. Go back to that coin

business. Whaddaya mean?"

"I

mean that every time we see or write the year, we

acknowledge that something so amazing happened that the

world started recording time all over again from that

moment on."

"Yeah,

but for crying out loud - a baby? A baby didn't do

all that stuff." "Of course not," I

replied. "But if God came and lived among us from

infancy to death - maybe being teased in school,

maybe with a tummy ache from too many sweets, maybe

disappointed that a friend let him down, maybe sad when

his cousin died and scared when things started going

against him - that tells me there isn't anything

that happens to me that God didn't experience too."

"So

what's wrong with Santa Claus? He was real too, a good

guy that secretly gave gifts to a poor man who couldn't

afford dowries for his daughters." He was on a roll:

"Can't kids learn that they can be Santa Claus for

others? Santa's about giving as well as getting. `Sides,

I notice they didn't have any trouble e-mailing Christmas

lists to grandparents..."

"Point

taken, Griz. Trouble is, we're not in a position to sound

critical. I think the kids are missing out on some of the

fun, but I promise, if you ask them if their parents'

love for them is real, they would not hesitate for a

moment.

"And

how do they know? They can't prove that any more than you

can prove or disprove Santa Claus exists. It would be a

lot harder to believe Grandma has a talking bear."

He let that pass, but then continued: "So you buy

the whole thing? Red-nosed reindeer, poor little drummer

boys `give-him-my-heart,' dancing nutcrackers, guys on

camels following a star?

"Every

year someone invents some brand new ancient tradition,

and every year it starts earlier. Every year someone's

apartment gets burned out and we get all sniffly and buy

the kids new toys. The whole thing's a gigantic scam, I

tell you, with only one thing in mind: getting you to

spend money."

"Honey,

a lot of what you say disturbs me too, but the older I

get, the less troubled I am by the commercialism of the

season. Christmas as we celebrate it is an American

tradition, richly melding traditions of other lands and

other times, some pre-dating the Christian era. "But

at its very core, there is one single solitary fact, that

God chose to live among us. History changed. And no

singing chipmunks or charity appeals can take that away.

God is way bigger than all our tacky glitter."

Griz was

very quiet, his polyester brain struggling to process the

concept. Then his frown eased, just for a moment.

"You believe in me, huh? I'd hate to see you have to

prove that."

"So

would I, Griz. So would I."

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