Santa Claus is real: absolutely, positively, and unconditionally real.

Not only is he real, he is arguably (and I would say unquestionably) immortal.

For those of little faith I suggest borrowing an inconspicuous red suit and white beard for a day, or an afternoon, or an evening, and then asking questions of the children who will, for the most part, gather round like angels at an annunciation.

Ask them, of course, what they want for Christmas.

But then ask them to tell you a story about the best present they ever gave to someone else.

The youngest sometimes can't remember.

For most, however, eyes light up, faces brighten, and tales tumble out like toys from a stocking.

When I first understood that even Santa sometimes needs help, I was told that gift giving on Christmas was a tradition . . . linked to the legend of three wise men bringing gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to a child they thought would someday become a king.

I now believe the story of the party in Cana is a better source. There, or so the legend goes, a carpenter's son performed a miracle (some say the first of many) by saving someone else's wedding . . . for no other reason than the joy of the deed and the pleasure it gave to others.

Best of all, the instinct to do such things seems to be, almost, universal. Some tiny mustard seed of generosity manifestly resides in even the youngest of us. It just needs a little cultivation now and then.

Merry Christmas . . . and peace . . . to all.