My daughters are teenagers now, but Christmas is still about the kids

My daughters texted to say they’d be late.

It was Wednesday. After school, they detoured to Shoppers Drug Mart to buy gifts for friends. Was I proud of their Christmas spirit? You bet. Did I check my wallet to see if my Visa was still there? Maybe.

About an hour later, they burst through the front door like giddy revelers at Burning Man. Twin teens with matching grins, overjoyed with yuletide joy.

They sat me down to backstory the presents and explain why so-and-so would absolutely love this or that. I was treated to a PhD dissertation on lip balm and deep thoughts on cosmetics. Living with three females, my listening skills are now canine, mostly because I can’t get a word in edgewise.

I nodded in silence as Ava and Charlotte displayed their bounty like models on “The Price Is Right.” I was peppered with rhetorical queries such as, “Don’t you think she’ll love this?” The circle of giving was alive in our living room.

The getters had become the givers.

As they yammered on about matte finish, I glanced at a nearby photo.

One afternoon, when the girls were small enough to use mantel stockings as sleeping bags, my wife, joined by her parents, Betty and Bob, took them to the mall to meet Santa. It was cordial until a frazzled elf asked the girls to sit atop the lap of Mr. Claus for the seasonal shot.

As my wife recalled, the girls gave Father Christmas a nervous once-over.

Then they clutched her hands, scooted behind her skirt and declared: “No Santa!”

But this veteran Kris Kringle, aware of his superpower to scare the bejesus out of toddlers, offered a workaround. Santa stood behind his oversized log chair. When I look at the photo now, I can see the mix of thrill and dread in the girls’ faces.

Charlotte is holding her candy cane upside down like a shiv.

Ava looks ready to bolt should Santa make any sudden moves.

Why do the holidays make us so reflective? Why am I sitting here and thinking about the first time the girls helped me pick a tree and how Ava pouted upon discovering a balsam fir does not come in pink? I still recall Charlotte, then six, calling me into her room in the middle of the night because Santa was on the roof. Her squeaky voice was so persuasive, I thought about checking for an intruder.

On Christmas Day, when they were little, the girls would tear into their gifts with guttural sounds, clawing at the wrapping paper like jungle cats. Then their eyes would get as big as tree ornaments as they itemized the loot: “Lego! Monster High! Barbie! Shopkins! Books! Rainbow Loom! Markers!”

It takes so little to make a child so happy at Christmastime.

My daughters stopped believing in Santa many moons ago. I may have hastened the end one year when I suggested we skip the milk and cookies and leave Santa a martini. They stared at one another. Dots connected.

But the holidays remain a special time for them.

Charlotte asked me if it would be a white Christmas. Proving only that she has no future at Environment Canada, she first asked this in early November. The other night, Ava showed me a photo of snowman cookies she wants us to make this weekend, as if her father is a Keebler Elf. Now it was time for my guttural sounds.

But I reluctantly agreed with a pinkie swear.

Christmas is still about the kids.

Which brings us back to the circle of giving.

Put on your comfy Rudolph slippers and pour yourself a spiked eggnog. Maybe pour me one as well. I need a glass of courage before doing a hard sell.

Here goes: As I write this on Thursday, the Star’s Santa Claus Fund, which provides gifts for 50,000 underprivileged children, is short of our fundraising goal. I think of this charity as a sprinkling of holiday magic around the GTA, where it is needed.

That’s why there is panic in my Atkinson heart.

Let’s not beat around the mistletoe: What can I do to earn your donation?

You want me to shovel your driveway this winter? Shine your boots? Help wrap last-minute gifts? Diversify your portfolio? Troll your enemies? Deliver homemade snowman cookies that may lead to food poisoning? Friends, if you can spare a few bucks for this achingly sweet charity established in 1906, I will come to your home to perform an interpretative dance set to Tchaikovsky’s “The Nutcracker” while sharing insights I just gleaned about Burt’s Bees Balm.

Call now! You can still make a difference! Operators are standing by!

More importantly, so are the children.

At this time of year, every kid deserves to rip into a gift like a jungle cat. Every kid deserves to think Santa is pitter-pattering on the roof. Every kid deserves to feel special, remembered, loved, while basking in the yuletide joy.

It takes so little to make a child so happy at Christmastime.

And then one day, full circle, the getters become the givers.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you and yours.

Thank you for reading the Star.

And as always, thank you for helping us sprinkle magic.

If you have been touched by the Santa Claus Fund or have a story to tell, please email santaclausfund@thestar.caVinay Menon is the Star’s pop culture columnist based in Toronto. Follow him on Twitter: @vinaymenon

GOAL: $1.5 million

TO DATE: $1,282,525

How to donate

With your gift, you can help provide holiday gift boxes that inspire hope and joy to 50,000 underprivileged children.

Online: To donate by Visa, Mastercard or Amex, use our secure form at thestar.com/santaclausfund

By cheque: Mail to The Toronto Star Santa Claus Fund, One Yonge St., Toronto, ON M5E 1E6

By phone: Call 416-869-4847

To volunteer: scfvolunteer@thestar.ca

The Star does not authorize anyone to solicit on its behalf. Tax receipts will be issued.