I am forty-four years of age and my dad has still not admitted to me that there is no Santa Claus. It has been a bit of an ongoing thing with us for the last thirty-five years or so, when I first started to question the existence of the jolly old elf. I would needle him trying to get him to admit that he and my mom were actually behind it all. My dad would get a twinkle in his eye and an amused smile across his face and insist that “Yes, Candace, there is a Santa Claus.” In all …
