Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (20 page)

I looked at the address in shock. “Wow,” I said, before I could even stop the word from escaping my mouth. I’d assumed the children’s home would be close to this woman’s house so I could fit the visit in between others, and that the mileage costs wouldn’t be significant for me. But it wasn’t close at all.

“What is it?” she asked nervously. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, this address is a two-hour drive for me in the other direction, and…”

I could see the hope fading from her eyes.
What would Santa do?

“…and you know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

Tears began filling her eyes. She went to hug me. “Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!”

I hugged her back, and then I wished her luck and told her I hoped things would work out for her. “I promise to give Zachary your message,” I said as I got into my van.

Early the next morning, snow started falling…and falling…and falling. More than two inches of snow
per hour
blanketed the ground, blown by forty-five-mile-per-hour gusts that created bitterly cold wind chills and reduced visibility on most roadways to zero. Such treacherous weather conditions resulted in the authorities issuing a “Level 3 Snow Emergency.” The
strongest road travel advisory that can be issued, a Level 3 Snow Emergency states that “All roadways are closed to non-emergency personnel. No one should be out during these conditions unless it is absolutely necessary to travel…. Those traveling on the roadways may subject themselves to arrest.”

Very bad timing for me.

My appearance at the children’s home had been scheduled for that afternoon, smack dab in the middle of the worst part of this major winter storm. With only a week until Christmas, I had no openings left to reschedule. And more than that, the children had been told to expect a visit from Santa Claus. And when has a blizzard ever stopped the big man in the red suit from showing up?

I knew I had to get myself there somehow. So I put on my Santa outfit, got into my van, and left extra early to give myself enough time to travel there through the storm.

The driving conditions deteriorated quickly as I turned onto the interstate. Fortunately, I had snow tires and a significant amount of experience driving through severe winter conditions—snow, sleet, ice, blizzards, you name it. I’d lived and worked in New England through nearly a decade of tough winters. Even so, I found that drive to be one of the most difficult of my life. Although I literally saw no other cars on the highway—since everyone else seemed to have obeyed the emergency
advisory—I still had to keep my speed down, and a few times I even had to pull over to stop and wait for a snow squall to clear and allow me to see again.

By the time I’d made it about halfway, the snow had decreased visibility so much that I heard the police siren behind me long before I could see the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. I signaled to indicate that I’d pull over as soon as I could safely do so, and a few moments later, I came to a stop along the shoulder of the interstate.

I could see the state trooper, bundled in a thick gray and blue coat, get out of his patrol car and walk toward my vehicle. I rolled down my window, and snow immediately blew in. Fortunately, I was bundled up myself in full, ultra-warm Santa Claus regalia.

The state trooper looked into the van. “Where are you going, Santa?” he asked, obviously noticing my costume.

“I’m on my way to a children’s home to deliver Christmas presents to some boys and girls there.”

“You realize that during a Level 3 Snow Emergency, it’s emergency vehicles only allowed on the roads. So why shouldn’t I cite you?”

I spread out my arms to show my entire outfit. “Officer, look at me.” I smiled. “I’m the one person in the world who can’t use snow as an excuse not to show up. And anyway, this is a children’s home. It’s not like the boys and girls won’t be able to make it there because of
the snow. They live there, and they’re expecting Santa to come this afternoon. I just can’t bear to disappoint children, especially at this time of year.”

The officer thought about it for a moment. “Okay, you’ve got a point. But I can’t have you risking your life driving alone in these conditions. So I’ll tell you what: I’ll drive along in front of you until you get there. You all right with that, Santa?”

“Oh, that would be just great!” I responded happily. “There’s nothing like getting a police escort.”

The irony was not lost on me as I steered through that stormy night, a glowing red light up ahead of me guiding the way. We slowly and carefully drove the remaining distance and pulled into the parking lot of the children’s home. It was a friendly looking two-story house with lots of windows, a porch, and a front door with small panels of stained glass. The officer got out of his vehicle and walked over to me as I headed toward the front door.

“Hey, Santa, wait a sec,” he said. “Would you mind if I came inside with you? I’d love to see the expression on the kids’ faces when they see you.”

“How about this?” I said. “Why don’t you go in first? Then you can introduce me.”

“I’d really enjoy that, thanks!” he said, grinning. So I stood back a little and waited for him to ring the doorbell. When the door opened, I could see a bunch of children inside, all looking for Santa. They seemed surprised
and disappointed to see a policeman instead. The officer took a step inside but kept the door propped just a crack so he could open it and let me in. I tiptoed up to listen to his introduction.

“Wow! There’s quite a storm outside!” the officer said loudly. “In fact, there’s a Level 3 Snow Emergency! Do any of you kids know what that is?” I heard a bunch of quiet mumbles. “Well, it’s when a blizzard is so bad that only police cars and fire trucks are allowed to be on the roads. No one else is allowed to drive right now. In fact, if I saw somebody out driving in this storm, I could arrest them.”

I heard a lot of children saying “Wow!” and muttering after he said that. When the voices faded, the officer continued. “But then I saw someone who’s allowed to be out in a Level 3 Snow Emergency because he’s so important. And I followed him here. I think you already know who I’m talking about…”

He opened the door wide, and I walked in with a loud, “Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” The children cheered and ran to hug me, yelling “Santa! Santa! Santa!”

The officer stayed for a few minutes, asking the folks in charge if they might need anything, and then he headed back out to continue patrolling the highways. The children all said good-bye, and then we sang some songs and I told a few stories (including the story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, of course).

I handed out the small gift toys, and then one by one,
the children climbed onto my lap to have pictures taken and talk to Santa. Zachary’s mother had shown me a photo of her son the previous day, and when he climbed up onto my lap, I said, “And you must be Zachary!”

Zachary told me he’d been good and how he made a lot of friends living there in the children’s home. Then he eagerly listed all the toys he wanted for Christmas. “But I really wish I could see my mom,” he said, suddenly looking a little sad.

“Well, Zachary,” I confided, leaning over to whisper into his ear. “Your mother actually gave me a special message to share with you when I came here, but don’t tell anyone else, okay?”

Zachary looked excited. “Okay, Santa! What did she say?”

“Your mom told me that she loves you very, very much. She knows you’re such a good boy, and she’s trying really hard to get you back. And she’ll never stop trying. You’ve just got to keep believing in her.”

Zachary gave me a big hug and a smile. I smiled back as he got down off my lap.

By the time I’d finished with the last child, one of the grown-ups told me that the worst of the storm had passed and that the authorities had opened the roads again.

As I turned to say good-bye to all of the children, I left them with one final thought. “I want you all to remember something very important, all right?” The children nodded as they paid careful attention. “Even
though you’re in this particular situation right now, you all need to know that you’re loved—each of you. You’re not being punished. You see, Santa knows a secret, and I’ll share it with all of you right now. Ready?”

Again, the children nodded and listened closely. “There’s no such thing as a bad child or parent. There’s only bad behavior. Everyone gets onto Santa’s naughty list at least once. Sometimes it’s a lot of times. That’s just the way people are. Children make mistakes, and—believe it or not—sometimes grown-ups and parents make mistakes, too. But that doesn’t mean that they’re bad. Santa knows that people are good, and they have to be given a second chance. And that’s why I always make it a point to check my list twice. There’s always hope. Things might not be perfect right now, but there’s always a chance they’ll get better, maybe even in ways you never imagined…you just have to believe.”

And with that, I wished everyone a Merry Christmas and headed out into the chilly winter night.

W
HILE I MAY NOT HAVE SET OUT AT FIRST
to become Santa Claus, I’ve lived many magical moments since that serendipitous day in Charleston that have turned me into a lifelong believer in the spirit of Christmas. I’ve seen twinkles of joy in countless children’s eyes and more Christmas miracles than any man should expect to in one lifetime. I’ve witnessed the restoration of faith in grown-ups who considered themselves too old or disenchanted to believe, and I’ve had my own heart healed and uplifted again and again through the mysterious power of the red suit.

I remember so many of the folks I’ve met along the way who made my life as Santa inspiring and fun. But no one has ever embodied the indomitable spirit of loving both Santa Claus and Christmas quite like Lottie.

During one season as Santa-in-residence at a mall in
New England, it was nearing Christmas Day, and the lines to see Santa Claus had grown very long. People waited hours just to take their photo with Santa, and so I was a little surprised and certainly impressed to see a woman of fairly advanced years walk up the carpet to my chair. But the long wait standing in line didn’t seem to have affected her, and she hopped right up, threw both her legs sideways across my lap, and put her arms around me.

“So what’s your name, little girl?” I asked mischievously.

She smiled and said, “I’m Lottie. And I’ll have you know that I’ve had my picture taken with Santa Claus each year since before I was born.”

“Ho, ho, ho!” I laughed. “Since
before
you were born? And how did you manage that, Lottie?”

“I have a photo of my mother, pregnant with me, sitting on Santa’s lap with his ear pressed up to her belly, listening to my Christmas wish from inside the womb. Then each year from then forward, I had my picture taken with Santa Claus. First it was just me. Then it was me and my brother, and then me and my two brothers.

“By the time I was in high school, my brothers wouldn’t take their picture with Santa anymore. But I still did. Then, when I went away to college, that first year I had my picture taken with Santa, and I sent it to my mother. The following year, I took my Santa picture
with my first-ever boyfriend. The year after that, I had my picture taken with a different boyfriend.”

She gave me a smile and a wink, and I smiled back, wanting to hear more of her story.

“Later on, I took pictures of Santa with me and my husband, then with our children in them, too. When the last of our children moved away, I went back to taking pictures with just me and my husband.

“Then my husband passed away. But by that point, there started to be grandchildren who would come to visit, so I would take my Santa Claus photos with them.”

“And you still have all of these pictures?” I asked, amazed.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Every one from the womb on through last Christmas. In fact, I was showing them all to my daughters, who were trying to figure out what to do for my eightieth birthday, which is coming up right after Christmas. They’ve decided to have all the photos enlarged, framed, and hung on the walls at my party, and then put them into a special bound book. They’re going to call it ‘My Lifelong Affair with Santa Claus.’ So I need a special picture this year.”

And with that, she raised up her right hand to cup my beard and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. The photographer snapped off several photos in that pose, and then Lottie got up and thanked me, telling me that this photo would be on the cover of the book her daughters were making.

“I plan to live a long time,” she said. “So every ten years after this, we’re going to rebind the book with the next ten photos for everyone in the family.”

“That’s such a wonderful legacy for your children and grandchildren,” I said, truly impressed and inspired by this woman whom I had met only a few short minutes before.

She grinned. “And I intend to keep doing it as long as this old body can still get out here to the mall to see you.”

“Lottie,” I said quietly, “I want to give you something.” I leaned over and asked one of the helpers to get me one of my business cards, and I handed it to her. “I’m sure you’re going to live a lot more years,” I whispered into her ear, “but if it’s ever Christmastime and you find that you’re too sick to come see me, give me a call, and I’ll come to see you. It doesn’t matter where you are; I’ll get there. If you’re in a hospital, I’ll come right up to your room and take a picture with you by your bed. All you have to do is call me.”