I am Santa Claus. Yes. Whether you believe it or not, and whether you like it or not, I am. Some snort apathetically or with mild amusement. Some insist I'm changing the definitions of words. Most, though, get it. We understand: Santa Claus does exist and always has. Maybe we haven't yet figured out how to make the traditional reindeer fly, and certainly we're still missing presents for too many good girls and boys. But we're committed to doing better. Those reindeer will fly. Oh, they'll fly. So, Scrooge, while you wallow in your nihilism, I'll be working with some friends to build whatever needs finishing at the North Pole. You're welcome to join us when the angst passes . . . when you, too, learn the great secret: Claus in you.