I was born into the wrong family. I never felt safe or happy until I left them.
Perhaps, it's because I was never able to dream. I read the fairy tales of my youth and longed for those magical times and places. Unfortunately, I had to work.
I never had the opportuity to pursue the magic of which those stories told. I never had the time to sit and daydream about fairies, trolls and elves. Not even magic.
Magic is an important part of a child's life. If you look at it, everything they encounter as children seems magical. Everything is new and exciting; everything is special and full of wonder.
Cinderella didn't bat an eye when her rags were transformed into a beautiful ball gown. She wasn't awe struck when mice were turned into horses or a pumpkin into a coach.
Hansel and Gretel weren't afraid of a house made of gingerbread. Pinnochio was a puppet who became a real boy. His friend was a talking cricket.
It was all because of magic, the magic that young children are supposed to experience every day. The magic that has them wishing on a star or looking for four leaf clovers.
As we age, we become more accustomed to the way that the world works and we lose our belief in magic. We realise that magic is just a word that has no meaning in our life.
When I lived in Hollywood, people were always amazed at the lengths that I would go to decorate my home for holidays, such as Halloween or Christmas.
I understood. I had no children and no relatives that would come to visit. Most holidays, I spent partying or travelling. Yet, every Halloween and Christmas my house had to be decorated.
Every Halloween, I would be home, passing out candy to all the kids that dared brave my grave laden yard or dodge my flying witches. I always wore a costume.
Every kid that dared to ring my bell, though, was rewarded with a double handful of candy. Good candy, not the cheap stuff others gave away! Full sized candy bars.
I wanted the kids to have a magical experience when they came to my door. They never knew who would answer from year to year. One year, it was Hitler; the next, it was Dracula.
Every year, I seemed to have more kids come to my house than any other house on the block. Often, they would be lined up as I opened another box of candy.
That look of excitement in their eyes when I opened the door made it all worthwhile. Between decorations and candy, I never spent more than a hundred dollars.
My costumes came from the studio where we taped our shows and I had my choice of anything they owned. I made a dear friend in an old costumer who loved children.
Every Christmas, I would add to my outdoor decorations. I started by placing lights around my windows, then added the door. The hedge in front of my house was lighted, too.
I added candles to each window. I placed candy canes on the strings of lights so that kids could have one as they went by my house on their bicycles. I decorated my mailbox.
After about ten years, I had people driving slowly by my house, taking pictures to share with their friends. All the time, though, I wanted to make my decorations tasteful, not gaudy.
One year, I had the studio bring a plastic snow machine and coat my lawn with plastic snow. I rigged a pulley system that would make it appear as a sleigh had landed on my roof.
I went to great lengths to perpetrate the hoax, the idea that Santa Claus was real. When I was young, Santa was the only proof that I had that magic was real.
I wanted to bring that belief in magic to every child that walked, rode or drove past my house. I wanted them to know that there was one grown up who actually believed in Santa.
The truth is that there is no Santa Claus. The day that I realised that was the saddest day in my life. It meant that magic wasn't real and that my wishes were just words.
I'm sixty-six years old now and the saddest words I hear come from parents who say, "I wish Christmas was over with already." It makes me want to cry.
Every child needs hope and they get that hope from magic. Magic is as real to them as a brick wall.
Every year, another child finds that there is no Santa Claus and another mind shuts out the possibilty of magic.
I saw "The Santa Clause" movie when it premiered. I loved it then and I love it now. I watch it every Christmas, and every Christmas, I wish I were Santa Claus.
I want to instill that child like innocence into the world, a world that has given up on magic. I want to make magic real by becoming Santa Claus.
I want every child to know that a magical old elf is watching them and rewarding them for being good. I want every child to believe in magic.
People have called me crazy for saying these things. Maybe I am insane. But, the way I look at it, if we want to have a wonderful life, maybe magic is necessary.
I've never experienced magic outside Christmas. Not because I used to believe in Santa but because I see that magic in every child's eye every December.
If I'm insane for wanting to see children happy and believing in magic, then I never want to be sane.
I'll never sign any contract that requires me to denounce Santa Claus as a fictional character.
I'll never sign anything with that "Sanity Clause."
I'll always believe in magic and I'll always believe in Santa Claus.
I'll push him off a roof and take his job, one day.
I'll prove magic is real.