TODD THOMPSON
Leavenworth County Attorney
Busted? A Prosecutor Reopens the Case for Santa
“Busted!” my young son announced as he climbed into the back seat of our car for the drive home from school.
“You know how I know Santa isn’t real?” he shouted. “We don’t have a chimney!”
As a prosecutor, I respected his solid reasoning, but I was not prepared for his argument. I sat stunned. Because of my silence, my son exclaimed, “See! I knew I was right—busted!”
My daughter objected immediately.
“He’s real! But, Dad, how does he get in?”
Needing an explanation, I replied, “He’s magic.”
My son then decided to cross-examine me further.
“Let me see the security cameras from last year. I know we have cameras—show them to me from Christmas.” His questions were as sharp as those I’ve heard from seasoned defense attorneys.
“In my job, I have to prove things beyond a reasonable doubt,” I replied. “I must present evidence to a jury. So let’s look at the evidence: when you go to bed, your stockings are bare, but when you wake up, they are full.”
“That’s because you fill them when we are asleep,” he rebutted.
My daughter chimed in. “I have an idea! What if we put cookies out, and if they are eaten, then that will show Santa was there?”
My son shut that idea down. “You know Dad would just eat the cookies—probably before Santa!”
He made a valid point.
My son then delivered his closing argument. “Dad, I know Santa Claus is also called Saint Nick, or Saint Nicholas, and he lived a very long time ago. There’s no way he could still be alive today.” Then, with pride, he yelled again, “Busted!”
Admittedly, I smelled defeat from this very skilled adversary. Another childhood treasure seemed on the verge of being lost. Worse, I could see the jury of his peers—his sister—leaning his way.
That’s when I decided to call my star witness, my daughter. “How does Santa decide who gets gifts?”
“If you have been good,” she said. “He even keeps a list!”
I asked my son if he knew how Saint Nicholas became a saint.
He explained that Saint Nicholas came from a wealthy family and, instead of keeping his wealth, gave gifts to the less fortunate—without telling anyone.
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s called altruism.”
My daughter asked, “Dad, on my Christmas list, I want to give a friend a Labubu because she doesn’t have one. Is that altruism?”
“Yes,” I said. “And that’s very sweet.”
Feeling my momentum, I delivered my final argument.
“In the law, we have a concept called transferred intent. Basically, if you intend to affect one person, but your actions end up affecting others, the responsibility still carries.”
They both nodded.
“You both agree that people all over the world receive gifts on Christmas from what is reported to be Santa, right?”
Again, both agreed.
“Saint Nick wanted others to do good. One way he helped people who did good things was by giving without recognition. That still happens on Christmas, doesn’t it?
Two nodding heads.
“That means Santa’s intent from long ago still exists today. His good intentions have been passed on to others, who continue acts of kindness—that is the magic of Santa. That’s how Santa is real. That’s how he comes to our house on Christmas, even if we don’t believe.”
My daughter asked, “Dad, am I Santa?”
“You already have his spirit,” I said. “It shows in you wanting to give that gift to your friend.”
Then my son said, “I want to be Santa, but not yet.”
I told him, “That’s okay. You have plenty of time to share in his spirit and keep his magic alive.”
At that point, I knew my case wasn’t busted. Santa is less a man in a sleigh and more a commitment to generosity we choose to carry forward, a shared intent that survives the belief itself.
Case closed.
Todd Thompson is the County Attorney for Leavenworth County, Kansas.