(Note — Today’s column is a reprint of one that ran back in 1976. Our Sarah was 9 years old at that time. Her three children are all older now than she was then. May each of you have a family-filled, or memory-rich, Christmas.)

I knew the time must come, and it did. But, still in all, I know what must be, regardless of how much you might wish to hold back the natural process of things.

You see, my Sarah — she’s just turned 9 — leaned over and said, “Poppa, I know about Santa Claus. Momma told me.”

Well, I knew she knew. Had known for a while. But, it still gave me that sinking feeling in the heart. My baby, no longer so innocent.

“I know, baby,” I replied, “Momma told me you had talked with her. But, this surely doesn’t mean we can’t believe in the ‘spirit’ of Santa Claus, does it?”

“Poppa, what do you mean by the ‘spirit’ of Santa Claus?”

“Well, darling, that’s kind of hard to explain. I mean, Santa Claus stands for the goodness of giving. And we believe in that, don’t we? And making children happy.”

“Yes, sir. But, I don’t really understand about the ‘spirit’. Do you mean like at the church? Like God?”

“Um. That’s hard to answer, Sarah. I’m not sure myself what a ‘spirit’ really is. Yes, I suppose the spirit of Santa Claus is kind of like the spirit of God. Maybe the spirit of man, through Santa Claus, is the work of God. Do you understand what I’m trying to say, baby?”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean, I’m not sure, Poppa.”

“Don’t worry, my darling, your heart is in the right place. That’s what counts.”

“You know what, Poppa?”

“What, Sarah?”

“Some of the boys and girls in my room don’t know about Santa Claus yet.”

“Yes?”

“And I’m not going to tell them, either. I’m going to keep on pretending I believe in Santa Claus. It’s more fun that way, anyhow.”

“Sarah … I love you.”

“I love you too, Poppa.”

APROPOS — “The world, seen through the eyes of children, pixies, fairies and all, gives weary man a fleeting glimpse of what dreams can no longer be.” — Anon.