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As the year comes to a close, Aaron returns to a childhood memory sparked by The Polar Express—a quiet library, falling snow, and a sound he still can’t explain. What begins as a story about believing in Santa becomes something larger: a reflection on why belief itself is real, necessary, and enduring. Through a timeless response to an 8-year-old’s question published in The New York Sun, this episode explores why the most important things in life may exist beyond what we can see.
Credits & Citations
“Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus”
Written by Francis P. Church
Published in The New York Sun, September 21, 1897
Originally written in response to a letter from Virginia O’Hanlon
Music
“Elevare” by Daniel Catalá
Used with a paid license via Artlist.io
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The Team:
Story created & performed by: Aaron Calafato
Senior Audio Engineer: Ken Wendt
Additional vocals: Cori Calafato
Art: Pete Whitehead
Original Theme Music: thomas j. duke
Additional Soundscape Design: Isaac Gehring
TRANSCRIPT
Hey everybody—before we start today’s story, and as we close out 2025, I just want to pause and say thank you.
This season, and this year, has been the best in the history of Seven Minute Stories. Because of you, the show reached the Top 50 on Apple Podcasts in three different categories. You’ve been listening from all over the world—our highest concentration from the United States, Canada, and Great Britain, but far beyond that too.
Different places. Different lives. And somehow, we keep meeting here—inside these small stories.
And as always, if you ever want to reach out, you can find me at 7minutestoriespod.com—that’s the number seven. Hit the contact form. Tell me where you’re listening from. Tell me why you enjoy the podcast. And if there’s someone you care about—someone you love—that you’d like me to give a shout-out to on the show, I’d be honored to do that.
Alright.
Let me tell you a story.
Years ago, when I was about five years old, I remember sitting in a library.
It was one of those libraries that feels enormous when you’re a kid. There was a quiet hum in the room—the sound of a projector warming up. A librarian gathered us together. We were sitting with our parents. The lights dimmed, and they rolled out a slideshow of a classic Christmas story and book—one that would later become a movie called The Polar Express.
The images glowed on the wall. Snow was falling outside. Christmas was only a few days away.
And I could hear something.
Just like the book described, I could hear a train in my hometown—cutting through the dark. And I remember thinking, Okay… maybe we don’t have a Polar Express here.
But somewhere in the middle of that thought—right in that moment—I heard something else.
And I swear to you, this isn’t hyperbole.
I heard what sounded like reindeer. The way I’d heard them described in stories. Hooves—whatever you call them. It’s distinctive, you know? Maybe some bells too.
I told my mom I had to use the restroom. But I had ulterior motives. I wanted to run upstairs and prove that someone was trying to trick us.
I went upstairs.
There was nobody.
No bells.
No reindeer.
I ran all the way back downstairs. Then I snuck outside to look up at the roof as the snow fell.
Nothing.
No reindeer.
But I know what I heard.
I ran back inside. My mom noticed how cold it was. She scolded me. Had me sit back down. And I finished watching the slow slideshow of The Polar Express.
But from that moment on, I’ve always thought about this time of year differently.
What does it mean to believe in something?
In 1897, an eight-year-old girl named Virginia O’Hanlon wrote to The New York Sun with that same question. Her friends had told her Santa Claus wasn’t real.
She asked the paper simply: Is there a Santa Claus?
What follows is the editor’s response. I’m going to read it slightly adapted for length—but like next week’s story, this letter has become a Seven Minute Stories ritual for me.
And it’s an answer to a question I not only believe—but one that’s said better than I ever could.
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They believe only what they can see.
All minds, Virginia—whether they belong to men or children—are small when measured against the vastness of the universe.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
He exists as surely as love and generosity and devotion exist. You know these things are real because they give your life its highest beauty and joy.
How dreary the world would be if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias.
There would be no childlike faith, no poetry, no romance—nothing to soften the hard edges of life.
Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus.
The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor adults can see.
You may tear apart a baby’s rattle to see what makes the sound—but there is a veil covering the unseen world that no amount of strength can tear away.
Only faith, poetry, love, and romance can push aside that curtain and glimpse what lies beyond.
Is it all real?
Ah, Virginia—nothing in this world is more real or more lasting.
No Santa Claus? Thank God he lives—and lives forever.
A thousand years from now—no, ten thousand years from now—he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
One more week until Christmas.
I’ll talk to you then.
