An interesting thing happed here yesterday. Lilo was talking about the Joy of Christmas with the innocent conviction of a pure heart when her little sister Stitch piped up with the earth-shattering news that there was no Santa Claus. Stich is 2 chronological years younger than Lilo but is about 40 years older in skepticism. She has a fine-tuned bullshit detector and the only reason she would even play along with any implausibility is if she thinks there might be a payoff. Clearly it’s Mom and Dad who are ponying up the presents under the tree so she had zero interest in embracing the Ho Ho Ho.
This made Lilo have a sad. All the sad. Lilo quickly protested that there was SO a Santa Claus. She was obviously upset about even the thought that Santa wasn’t real. Lilo wants magic, unicorns, the Tooth Fairy, and justice to be REAL and she intends to hold onto those beliefs with both hands. I don’t blame her. I was the same way. Hell, I am still the same way and I do still believe in Santa Claus based on quantum mechanics and string theory. So there!
The fact that Lilo was upset, that she didn’t embrace the mythbusting with the same practical aplomb of a born pragmatist, confused Stitch. You could see it on her face. Stitch contemplated her sister’s irrational suffering for a minute and said, “Yes, there is a Santa Claus. I was just joking!” You could tell Stitch did not believe, but by gum she would support her sister’s yearning for Santa Claus if that is what would make Lilo happy. That is love.
To me, love is every bit as magical as Santa Claus could ever be.