Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (2 page)

A few weeks later, when I had to put on the suit again and save Christmas for the folks of Charleston because of a well-meaning DJ’s radio prank gone awry (I’ll tell you more about that story later), I knew that playing Santa was more than just a passing fancy for me. I’d enjoyed acting as a hobby and pastime for most of my life, and I realized I wanted to use that passion for spreading yuletide cheer—and maybe even delivering a few Christmas miracles here and there. My holiday rescue that day led to home visits as Santa the following year, and, as I’ll share with you in the pages to come, my life as a professional Santa Claus was under way.

My grandfather once said to me, “Sal, if your preoccupation and your occupation are the same thing, you’re a blessed person.” And he’s right: I am truly blessed. For the past twenty years, I’ve had the best vantage point imaginable from which to observe the enchantment of Christmas: behind a white beard and jolly smile. I’ve listened to thousands of excited children breathlessly whisper their innermost wishes into my ear, and I’ve channeled Santa’s big-hearted kindness to soothe the fears of thousands more who cried (or kicked, or screamed, or, yes, peed on my lap) when they
encountered the big guy himself up close. I’ve met grandmothers whose eyes filled with tears remembering the special doll Santa Claus surprised them with many years ago and eleven-year-old skeptics who discovered new reasons to believe. I’ve stood by the bedside of a dying child whose last wish was to become one of Santa’s elves and seen Santa’s compassion for a troubled soul renew her sense of hope. Again and again, I’ve witnessed firsthand the presence of Santa Claus delivering solace, joy, and peace.

Somewhere along the way, not only did I learn to play Santa, but I also learned how to
be
Santa. Sure, I may look like him (and I’ll admit I’m quite proud to be a naturally bearded Santa Claus—no glue-on white beard for me!), but it goes way beyond just the physical resemblance. I’ve come to understand and—I hope—embody the spirit of all that Santa Claus represents. Santa believes that even the smallest child can make a difference, and he treats every one of them with love, dignity, and respect. He takes all of their questions seriously (even if they’re asking about reindeer poop). He always shows up when he promises, even if he has to steer through a blizzard to get there. He has ultimate faith in our capacity for redemption, no matter how naughty we’ve been. Through his legend of stealth generosity, he teaches us that if you look for a way to bring wonder to others, you’ll find it. In my everyday life, I often ask myself,
What would Santa do?
And I find that
the spirit of the big guy himself always leads me to the right answer.

And now I’m here to share with you my stories, in the hope that they inspire that twinkling spark of Santa in all of us. I know the holidays can feel like a chaotic jumble of shopping and pressure to make everything perfect. But beyond the tinsel and glitter, and even beyond the whimsical legends of flying sleighs and midnight chimney capers, there lies something far more precious. As Santa, I’ve had a front-row seat to miraculous moments, selfless acts of giving, and beautiful expressions of love. My Christmas wish is for my stories to enable you to recapture the magic and wonder of what the holiday season is truly all about.

I
DIDN’T SET OUT TO BECOME SANTA CLAUS
. i suppose there was just something about my white hair and long snowy beard that naturally landed me in the world’s most iconic red velvet suit.

It all began when I was thirty-six years old, not long after I’d settled in the charming city of Charleston, South Carolina. My wonderful new wife, Linda, her adorable daughter, Ashley, and I moved in together and set out to make a life for ourselves. Even back then, children would look at me curiously everywhere I went. I’d been asked the question enough times to know they were wondering if I was, in fact, the big guy right there in the flesh. I always smiled back at them kindly, but didn’t really give the whole Santa mystique much thought.

At the time, I was happily building not one but two small businesses: one as a freelance safety inspector and the other as an Internet communications developer, which required a rather extensive array of equipment. At the end of our driveway, I had a special switchbox the size of a refrigerator with hundreds of telephone wires running in and out of it. Four satellite dishes of various sizes (the largest one fifteen feet in diameter!) sat in our backyard, and to top it off, an FM radio antenna jutted up from our roof.

My safety consultant business kept me busy during the daytime, and I dedicated most of my evenings to soldering together specialized computer hardware. My weekends were spent in the garage with the door open to the street for ventilation while I cut, sanded, and nailed wood together to make shelves for all the electronic equipment I’d built. Neighborhood children playing outside would watch this white-bearded, slightly rotund man doing all kinds of mysterious things. Happily absorbed in my tinkering and building, I didn’t know the theories they were cooking up…until I learned from a giggling neighbor that the children believed
beyond a doubt
that Santa Claus had moved in down the street.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Naturally, Santa would need to take phone calls from children all over the world, which explained the complex maze of phone lines. And
of course, it’s tough to know who’s been naughty or nice without some major high-tech monitoring equipment. Wood and supplies were piled everywhere for building toys. Plus, the radio antenna had to be for communicating with the elves up at the North Pole, didn’t it? Ah, the imagination of children!

My metamorphosis into a real live Santa inched forward later that year when, in a random stroke of luck, I won a pair of diamond earrings in a local radio contest. One of the DJs, a friendly fellow named Michael D., instructed me to swing by the radio station to pick up my prize. We got to chatting and, upon learning that I was a local businessman, Michael asked me to be on his sponsored team for a charity event called the Charleston Winter Olympics.

“Umm,” I said, not wanting to be rude but quite confused, “do they know it doesn’t snow in South Carolina?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said confidently. “We make our own snow…a whole mountain of it. It’s a really fun event, and I still need a few more people for my team, so we’d love to have you come along.”

It was for a good cause, so I said, “Sure, count me in.”

A few weeks later, I arrived at the site of the Charleston Winter Olympics, and sure enough, they had transformed a balmy southern November day into an elaborate mock winter wonderland. The “sled race” consisted of
zooming down a mountain of sand covered by slick wet carpets (which was surprisingly close in slipperiness to wet snow). All the teams had to wear signature hats, and Michael had chosen red Santa hats for his team members. So there I was, zooming down the hill on an old-fashioned wooden sleigh, red hat a-flying in the wind. (You might see where this is heading…) After my sled race was done, I walked past a young boy who, upon seeing me in my hat, Bermuda shorts, and Hawaiian shirt, pointed at me and said, “Look, Mom! Santa is on vacation!”

As the sun started to set, Michael took me aside. “So, Sal, did you have a good time?” he asked.

“Sure did,” I replied enthusiastically. “It’s a great event.”

He put his arm around my shoulder. “I always like it when we can do something for the community. Charity events are really important.”

“I agree,” I said, and I meant it. “I’m glad I could help out.”

“That’s great to hear,” Michael nodded, and I could see the twinkle of an idea glimmering in his eye. “Could you come by the radio station next week? I have a surprise for you that I think you’re going to love.” By this point, he was grinning from ear to ear and bouncing like a big, excited kid with a secret. How could I possibly say no to that?

A week later, I was back at the radio station with a very cheery Michael D. leading me to a storage closet. “Now, Sal, I don’t want to pressure you,” he said. “You’re free to say no. But we got this especially for you.” Michael opened the closet doors, and hanging there, amid the usual storage closet clutter, was a bright red velvet suit with white fringe.

All I could do was laugh. “Mike, that isn’t what I think it is…”

“Oh, yes it is,” he said, once again grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “The day I first met you, I knew we’d be doing this!”

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Well, every year our radio station runs a toy drive in December. Toys get donated to us, and others we buy with money that people give us. Then, a couple of weeks before Christmas, we drive around Charleston and hand out the toys to underprivileged children in the area. In past years, we just had volunteers drive over and hand out the gifts. But when I saw you walk into the station with your white hair and beard I thought, ‘This year, we could actually have
Santa Claus
deliver the presents!’ And then when I saw you last weekend wearing that red hat, I knew we needed to go out first thing Monday morning and get this suit for you.”

“Well, Mike, I don’t know…” I felt a little awkward. I didn’t want to say no, but I’d never given out presents
to kids while I was dressed as Santa before. “I’m not sure how it would work,” I admitted, “or that I’d know what to say to the kids.”

“Oh, that part’s easy,” he said, laughing. “We’ll have everything set up for you. We have a red van that we’ll fill up with toys. Half are wrapped in blue paper for the boys, and the others are in pink for the girls. We’ll give you the address to take them to, you drive there, and people will be waiting outside with the kids. You’ll get out and just hand out the presents. You don’t have to say anything at all except maybe ‘Ho, ho, ho!’”

I was still a little hesitant. I wanted to help, but I had two businesses to run and a family to support. “How often would you need me?” I asked.

“I know you’re busy with your businesses, and we’ll work around your schedule,” he assured me. “Even if you get in only one or two appearances, it’ll be a really great thing to do for the kids.”

For the kids
…

I thought of Ashley. My new stepdaughter meant the world to me, and Linda and I were looking forward to sharing a wonderful Christmas morning with her as she tore open gifts with squeals and whoops of glee. But what about all those children whose families didn’t have enough to get them even one gift? Or the ones who didn’t even have a family to begin with? I knew the kids would get the donated toys from the radio station even if I didn’t do it myself, but what a difference it
would make if those children were able to receive a gift from Santa himself. With that in mind, I agreed. Unbeknownst to me, my days as Santa had officially begun.

Step one was getting myself geared up as Santa Claus for my first appearance. I’d never seen a Santa outfit up close, but to my relief it wasn’t too complicated to figure out. First came the elastic-waist red clown pants; those were easy. Then the coat; it was a little tricky making sure my long beard didn’t get caught in the snaps! On went the belt, followed by the boot toppers, and then the iconic hat. And then, of course, the finishing touches: the white gloves and glasses. I was ready.

I’d love to tell you that when I turned to look in the mirror, trumpets heralded and the angels started to sing. But really, all I saw was just regular Sal Lizard in a bulky Santa outfit. I didn’t think I looked all that much like Santa, but I figured it was probably close enough that I could pull it off.

Okay,
I thought.
Here we go…

IT TURNED OUT TO BE A REAL HOOT DRIVING
the red van around town. On my way to the various drop-off locations, the radio station would announce over the air that Santa was driving around Charleston, and anyone who spotted him could phone in and win something. Callers had lots of fun, reporting Santa
sightings on this street or that highway. People driving past me would honk and wave, and I’d cheerfully do the same in response. I didn’t expect it, but I was having a jolly old time.