During his life, my father instilled in me many lessons that are much more important than anything I could ever learn in school. He was a wonderful teacher, who taught me about life and how to truly get the most out of it. I was lucky enough to learn at his knee philosophies on life that have rewarded me ten fold.
He taught me that my family is my greatest treasure.
He taught me to appreciate the friendship and devotion of a good dog.
He taught me to welcome each birthday as my own personal holiday, to be savored and enjoyed, no matter how many candles you have to blow out. (That is this coming Monday, btw)
And he taught me that, Yes, Little Weasel. There is a Santa Claus!
Dad went to his grave still believing in Santa. He took much flak over the years from co-workers and acquaintances who chided him about it, simply because they misunderstood. Yet, he never quieted or back away from his belief.
As my siblings and I came of age to understand Santa on more than a magical level, he would explain to us that Santa is very much real and comes to us in ways never expected. Santa is the spirit of doing for others. Santa is the force behind small and large acts of kindness that you never take credit for. Santa is the magic behind unexpected good will unto others and charitable acts to friends and strangers alike. Santa is giving in the spirit of Christ and the God that St. Nicholas devoted his life too.
He taught me to never stop believing in Santa Claus and to continue his work throughout my life.
I am proud to proclaim that I still believe in Santa and I am proud to be my father's daughter.
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