When I was in first grade, Santa Claus came to my elementary school, and dropped in on every classroom to wish the kids a merry Christmas. The kids mobbed him, and I couldn’t get through the crowd, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to him during his brief visit. My friend Tommy did, though, and he swore that Santa had addressed him by name. The other kids confirmed the story — Santa really did know our names!

Years later, I learned the truth behind the story. Santa had indeed known Tommy’s name - because my dad had volunteered to play Santa that year.

Well, of course. It made sense that he would recognize the kid I hung out with every weekend. While he was in costume, he had also stopped by our house and given my little sister a bit of a shock — she was just as convinced as Tommy and I that she had met the real Santa Claus.

When he told me the story, though, he didn’t talk about bringing joy to children. No, he talked about how hilarious Tommy’s reaction was, and attempted to reenact the kid’s expression of joy and shock and terror. He talked about how amused he was that my sister and I didn’t recognize him.

And that, to me, is the true meaning of Christmas — getting a six-year-old to look up at you and say, with total sincerity, “You just blew my mind.”