When I go home during breaks from school, the first place I stop is my old room. In it are trophies, pictures, and memories of my life as it used to be.

When I walk in, to the left of the door sits a small wicker box underneath my dresser. In it are the deepest memories from my childhood, such as the first tooth I lost, my kindergarten graduation cap, and among other things, the letters I wrote to Santa.

In these letters, I gave Santa lists of what I wanted for Christmas. I gave him lists of things I thought only he could get because of his magical power, and I gave Santa lists of things that I wanted him to pass on to God so that they could work on those specific projects together.

Now, when we as college students (or even as high school and middle school students) tell our relatives what we'd like for Christmas, it's usually done in a text. Or an email. Or maybe, maybe a phone call. But never a handwritten letter.

This year, when I go home for Christmas break after I take my exams, I plan to sit down and write out what I'd like for Christmas this year.

Why? I believe Santa still exists. No, not the old fat guy face planting into every fireplace in the world. I mean the people that make this world a better place by their choice to give. I'm talking about the kind of people that my mom called to get me an autographed Tennessee football helmet when I was 8, or the people who helped her pick out the four-wheeler I got when I was 10 because she didn't know what a boy of my size would want or need in order to be safe.

These people, including my mom, are the ones who make Christmas truly special. They're the reason I choose to possess the same sense of innocence and wonder this Christmas that I did so long ago, when I wondered how in the world Santa fit the shiny black ATV on my porch into his sleigh.

With a renewed faith in humanity and in the spirit of Christmas, this year I choose to channel my inner Donald Trump and make Christmas great again by writing a letter to Santa. The question is, do you?