Santa is our culture's only mythic figure truly believed in by a

Host: The snow outside drifted lazily down, blanketing the world in soft, quiet white. The flickering lights of the café glowed warmly against the frosted window, casting a soft, golden hue over the small room. Jack and Jeeny sat near the window, their breath visible in the cool air that crept in, despite the heat of the café. Jack stirred his coffee, his gaze lost in the steam, while Jeeny watched the falling flakes with a distant expression. Her voice broke the silence, like a gentle whisper in the calm.

Jeeny: “I’ve been thinking a lot about something I read recently. Chris Van Allsburg said that Santa is our culture’s only mythic figure truly believed in by a large percentage of the population. But here’s the thing—most of the true believers are under eight years old, and… that’s a pity.” She looked up at Jack, her voice soft but thoughtful. “What do you think? Do you believe it’s a pity?”

Jack: He raised an eyebrow, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he stirred his cup. “A pity? That people believe in something that’s pure magic for a little while? Sure, it’s a bit sad when the belief fades, but that’s part of growing up. People are always looking for meaning, for something that gives life a little wonder. Santa—he’s simple, innocent, but isn’t that what childhood is all about?” He leaned back, his voice taking on a half-joking tone. “Santa is the one myth we still hold onto, and I think it’s kind of nice.”

Host: The light from the streetlamps outside cast a soft glow on the café’s wooden tables, and a silence hung between them for a moment. Jack’s voice, though playful, held a certain melancholy, and Jeeny’s gaze shifted from the window back to him, her brow furrowed slightly as though contemplating something deeper.

Jeeny: “I don’t know, Jack… it’s hard to shake the feeling that there’s something a little tragic about it. I mean, think about it—Santa’s the one myth that we all know, on some level, is a lie. And the sad part is that we keep perpetuating it, even when we know the truth. It’s like we don’t want to let go of that innocence, but it’s inevitable. And as soon as kids start to figure it out, it’s like a whole part of their childhood disappears.” She paused, looking down at her hands, almost unsure if she should continue. “I guess I wonder if there’s something we’re losing by clinging to it. If believing in Santa is the last step of childhood, then what does it say about how we view growing up?”

Jack: He laughed, but there was no real joy in it. His eyes grew more distant as he thought about her words. “You always make things sound so serious, Jeeny. Santa is just fun. It’s not about believing forever—it’s about feeling that spark of wonder, even if just for a little while. Growing up doesn’t have to mean losing all the magic. Santa isn’t just about presents or the myths. It’s about imagination, the ability to dream, to hold onto something mysterious in a world that’s anything but. It’s the last piece of childhood we have before the world starts demanding that we become adults.”

Host: The warmth from the café seemed to grow, wrapping them in its comfort, yet the conversation had turned something cold inside. Outside, the snow continued to fall, drifting quietly across the sidewalk. Jack’s words lingered in the air like a fading echo, while Jeeny’s eyes were far more intent, seeking something beyond his tone.

Jeeny: “But that’s the point, isn’t it? We cling to it because we’re afraid of losing that spark. We think that the world is somehow darker when we don’t have these myths to hold onto. Maybe that’s why it feels so tragic—because we don’t trust ourselves to keep that wonder alive without some external figure like Santa. It’s like we’re saying, ‘This is the last bit of magic we get before we have to face the truth of life.’ It’s almost like Santa is a crutch, a way to soften the blow of reality.”

Jack: He shifted in his seat, running a hand through his hair, his expression more serious now. “I think you’re reading too much into it. Santa doesn’t have to represent the end of anything. He’s just a symbol. It’s not the myth that matters; it’s the idea behind it—the idea that there’s still magic in the world. Adults need that too, whether they admit it or not. The truth is, once we lose that belief, we lose a little of our ability to see the world with wonder. And if you stop seeing the world like that… what’s left?”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the problem, Jack. Wonder is something we’re supposed to create for ourselves, not rely on a myth. Santa—he’s just a placeholder. A fantasy that doesn’t grow with us.” She shook her head slowly, her eyes becoming soft with sadness. “And as much as I miss believing in the magic of it, I can’t help but feel that we’re better off without the lie. Growing up doesn’t have to mean giving up wonder—but it does mean facing the world with eyes wide open. And that’s something we need to do without relying on stories that end when you turn eight.”

Host: The room grew quiet, the sound of the snow outside now muffled as though the world had paused. Jack’s eyes softened, his gaze moving from Jeeny’s face to the empty coffee cup between them. His fingers absentmindedly traced the rim, and a moment of vulnerability passed between them.

Jack: “You know, you’re probably right. I guess I’ve been afraid that letting go of the magic means I’ll lose something more than just a myth. Santa felt like the last piece of something pure, and without that, the world can seem… pretty harsh.” He exhaled deeply, his voice more reflective now. “But maybe it’s about creating new magic. The kind that doesn’t depend on believing in something external, but on the things we still have the power to create.”

Jeeny: Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper. “Magic doesn’t have to disappear, Jack. We can build it, but we can’t do it if we’re still hiding behind a lie. I think we just need to believe in the world we have now, with all of its flaws and beauty. That’s where the real wonder comes from.”

Host: The snow outside had begun to thicken, the world blanketed in a silence that matched their unspoken understanding. In the small, quiet café, the soft glow of the lamps seemed to warm the space around them. Jack and Jeeny sat, no longer in disagreement, but in a quiet, shared moment of reflection. They had found their own brand of magic—not in a mythic figure, but in the truth of their conversation, and in the wonder they both believed still existed in the world, even without Santa.