My 6-year-old wants a "flying chicken-bird" for Christmas, and I've spent days trying to find one.
He explained that it's a bird that glides in the air and lays eggs. A real chicken? I asked. Nope, it's a toy, and Santa knows where to find it, he said.
My son's Christmas wish list also includes flying cars and trucks. He spent hours writing it, erasing as much as he put down on paper. My 9-year-old daughter, with more legible handwriting, wants a toy unicorn phone, press-on nails and the flying-chicken bird.
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As I prepare for Christmas with my children, the ills of the world don't seem so important.
There's so much dissension on issues, such as immigration and climate change, but I think many of us are unified in a feeling that the last few months have been overwhelming with incessant political updates and the on-air jabbing of pundits.
Half of the nation is rejoicing over the next four years under another Trump administration. The other half is concerned about what it means. Some are planning an exodus to another land.
At least we have a respite at Christmas. A break before we brace, or embrace, ourselves for what's next. At this moment, the remnants of joy and disaster are not in my purview.
I can just be in the moment while my children still believe in the magic of the season. They have their wish lists, their menu of cookies for Santa and their dreams of what Christmas day will bring. It may be the only time in their lives when magic seems real and happiness comes with twinkling lights and candy canes.
The meaning of the season isn't lost on us either. I try to teach my children that Christmas is about giving, helping others and being good humans. Receiving gifts is a bonus. So we each write down the things we've done to make a friend smile or help someone when they were down. Maybe this will stick when they are older.
I've talked with parents who fiercely reject the notion of Christmas magic and Santa. They probably bemoan the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny. I suppose they don't want their children hoodwinked by mythical characters when their hard-working incomes are financing the façade.
I'm not them. I'm on the side of Santa, the North Pole and every last reindeer. If I could have Christmas magic every day, I would. My life would be a perpetual Hallmark holiday movie, fake snow and all.
In my childhood, Santa was real. He was Black like me and lived in Missouri. We believed he had a second home near my grandparents' farm because he liked the rolling hills and the sky filled with stars.
He visited us one snowy night when I was my daughter's age, navigating a horse-drawn carriage over a bumpy, gravel farm road. He stepped onto the porch of the white house with black boots and a red suit. He carried a bag of toys, too.
It was an exceptional, well-orchestrated plan by my mother and her childhood friend, who posed as Santa. It was magical.
Children need magic. They'll have enough time as adults to be jaded by reality.
Last week, I hosted an annual holiday ice-skating party at Discovery Green in downtown for some 200 children. Many of the children have never seen an ice rink, let alone skated on one. Their first few steps on the ice were terrifying, but fears quickly turned to smiles and laughter.
This was the ninth year of the event, which creates a magical holiday feeling for so many children. Santa even makes an appearance.
Next year will be the 10th year, which seems like a good time to take a bow and end the event. I mentioned this to several educators who chaperoned the groups of students who attended. They urged me to reconsider because, for many of the children, this is the only Christmas celebration they get. It's their one chance to experience the joy and magic of the holidays.
I've read that children need those moments and that discovering the truth about Santa won't emotionally scar them or destroy their trust in their parents. But it's hard to know when to pull back the curtain on the holiday fantasy.
I won't worry about that now. I have to find a flying chicken bird.