I did a terrible thing this week.  I didn’t do it on purpose.  It just sort of happened.  Sister asked, “How did the first person know the story of Santa Claus?” Without thinking I began my answer.  “Well, there actually was a man once who gave toys to children around Christmas and someone heard about that man and thought, “Wow, that’s really nice and what a great story!”  So that person told someone else and that person told someone else and each person added a little bit to the story so that over time it changed and eventually came to be the story we tell today about a man who lives at the North Pole with reindeer and elves but none of that is … really….true.”  “Oops,” I thought to myself, “I just killed Santa Claus.”  I looked up from my explanation into the puzzled face of a five year old trying to figure out what just happened.  This was clearly not where she expected the conversation to go.  “Backpeddle, backpeddle!  Dig, dig!  Surely there is a way out of this hole!”  I don’t really remember much after that but I am fairly certain that Christmas will be different this year.