Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (9 page)

As I visited the remaining children, I did manage to hold it together. But all I could think of in the back of my mind was how I
should
have answered Timothy’s question: “Yes, when you die, that’s what will happen because you want it to happen.” It would have helped him in his final minutes. But I simply couldn’t think of that answer in time.

After Timothy, I made a vow to myself that I would never again leave a child waiting for an answer to a question for Santa. No matter what a child asked me, I would always answer it immediately. And I would never disappoint a child who was suffering. But this tragedy also helped me discover my limits. I decided that I could not visit hospitals ever again. I simply did not have the strength in my heart.

That is, until a second chance came my way many years later, when I had my own healing Christmas miracle….

IN 2010, NEARLY FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER MY
experience with Timothy, I got a call from a good friend who was a fellow Santa Claus asking me a favor. By that time, my family and I had relocated to New England, and I’d become a seasoned Santa Claus with much more experience under my shiny black belt.

Professional Santas always do whatever they can to help each other out, so when my friend asked me if I was doing anything during the daytime from December 6 to December 10 that year, I didn’t hesitate to say, “Not yet. What do you need?”

“Well, I have an appearance scheduled at a cancer treatment center in Boston, but I just got this incredible offer to play Santa Claus in Japan, and it’s just too good of an opportunity to pass up. So I’m trying to find someone to fill in at the hospital for me, and I’d really like for it to be you.”

My stomach tightened and my heart leapt into my throat. My thoughts raced back to Timothy. I seldom talked about that incident, but it had locked itself into my memory. In all the years since, I’d never approached a hospital to offer my services. My heart just couldn’t
bear the sadness and pain of seeing children who might not make it until their next birthday, or even a couple of weeks until Christmas. And I had never quite forgiven myself for falling apart that day and not helping Timothy the way I believed I should have. I’d since learned that there were properly trained Santas who specialized in hospital and hospice visits. Those men have my absolute respect and admiration, and I knew it was best if I left such visits in their capable hands.

Of course, my friend had no idea about what had happened to me previously. So I’m certain he was surprised when I responded, “Actually, I’d prefer that you asked someone else.”

“I’ll be honest with you, Sal,” he began in a serious but sympathetic tone. I don’t know whether he suspected that I might be squeamish around hospitals or if he just wanted to sound encouraging. “I’d really hoped it would be you and not someone else, because you’re one of the best Santas I know, and you’re so believable. These are kids with cancer, and I wouldn’t feel right turning this over to someone I didn’t trust to make his appearance special for them.”

I closed my eyes, and asked myself,
Can I do this?
Could I get through all those gut-wrenching visits, hospital room after hospital room, sick child after sick child, and still be the Santa Claus these children needed me to be? I honestly wasn’t certain.

And then I remembered the vow I’d made to myself
the day Timothy died to never disappoint a child who was suffering. Those kids were suffering, to one degree or another, and my fears and limitations seemed very small in comparison. This wasn’t about me; it was about delivering sunshine to kids who needed Santa’s loving reassurance. I took a deep breath and mustered my strength to sound as confident and committed as I could. “All right, I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, Sal. This will really mean a lot to those kids,” he said, not realizing how much his statement applied to me as well.

My friend provided me with the contact information for the director of the cancer treatment center, a woman named Lisa, who called me the following day. Lisa explained to me that her facility, a clinic attached to a much larger hospital, specialized in outpatient cancer treatment for children ranging in age from newborns to teenagers. Each year, the clinic would put on a special series of events to entertain their young patients at Christmastime. Santa Claus, of course, played an essential part in the program, along with jugglers, a cartoon artist, and more. Starting the following Monday through Friday, I would work from 10:00
A.M.
to 1:00
P.M.
, visiting with the kids and handing out presents.

As uplifting as the festivities sounded, I still tossed and turned in bed on Sunday evening, trying to fall asleep while dreading the next five days of my life.
What have I gotten myself into? How am I going to get
through this?
Linda tried to ease my mind, assuring me that I’d come a long way since visiting Timothy and that my experience would carry me through, but my heart was still heavy. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I definitely remember waking up feeling panicked about the day ahead.

I arrived at the clinic carrying my red suit in a garment bag over my shoulder and found Lisa’s office. I knocked on the already-open door, sticking my head inside. “Lisa?” I said to the slender, dark-haired woman sitting behind her desk.

She looked up from her computer and, seeing a white-bearded, portly gentleman standing in her doorway, her face brightened as she said, “Santa! I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Happy to be here,” I said merrily, hoping I sounded convincing.

Lisa led me out of her office and down a surprisingly cheerful hallway, decorated with bright furniture and vintage Disney paintings. “Right in here, Santa,” Lisa said, opening a door for me. “This is usually a file storage room, and some doctors and nurses use it to fill out paperwork or take a quick break. I’m afraid it’s a little full at the moment…”

I looked around and saw immediately what Lisa meant. Brightly wrapped presents and toys filled the room almost from floor to ceiling in some places. Stuffed stockings had labels taped to them specifying age ranges
like
INFANT, TODDLER, 5–8 YEARS, 13 AND OLDER,
and so on. I couldn’t believe how many toys and presents they had. These folks certainly took their Christmas event seriously.

Fortunately, I also saw a few chairs and tables to put my things down and space to get ready. Lisa backed out into the hallway, saying, “This door doesn’t lock, but if it’s closed, someone will always knock before walking in. As soon as you’re ready, just come back to my office and I’ll show you where to go next.”

“Great,” I said. “Thanks so much.”

“Thank
you
, Santa,” Lisa said with a grin as she closed the door.

The familiar ritual of putting on my Santa Claus attire steadied my nerves a bit. When I was all ready, I paused and took a deep, calming breath.
Okay, Sal…you can do this.

I walked back into Lisa’s office. She gave a gasp and a huge smile. “Oh, the children are going to be so excited! Come on!” She hurried me down the hallway in the other direction, and we entered a huge waiting room filled with children and their families.

I’d never seen a waiting area like this before. It looked more like a kindergarten classroom, filled with toys, books, huge blocks, and even a small slide that younger children could play on. In the center sat a gigantic aquarium filled with brightly colored tropical
fish and elaborate coral formations. Hanging everywhere were festive Christmas decorations.

On one side of the room, I saw an artist doing caricature sketches of some of the children. On the other side, a brightly dressed juggler entertained the crowd with jokes and fancy tossing tricks. Against the far wall, placed in front of a large cardboard cutout of a fairy-tale castle, I saw a cushioned chair with several stockings placed on either side of it. And next to those stockings—in bright red dresses with white fur on the sleeves, collar, and hemline—were two of the loveliest “Santa’s helpers” I had ever seen.

“Over here, Santa,” Lisa said, leading me toward the chair.

Upon hearing the word
Santa
, almost every child suddenly stopped whatever he or she was doing and began jumping up and down and shouting my name. I had to smile, even though I felt a little guilty because the poor cartoonist and juggler had found themselves quickly abandoned and forgotten as the children began to spontaneously form a line leading to Santa’s chair.

“Santa,” Lisa turned to face the two attractive young helpers, “this is Dr. Kelly and Dr. Stockton.”

“You’re
doctors
?” I felt suddenly embarrassed by my surprised reaction. It wasn’t their gender so much as how young they both looked. On the other hand, at the age of almost fifty-five, more and more folks had started
looking young to me. Nevertheless, I tried to hide my little faux pas by adding, “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing white coats?”

The two doctors smiled. “This is our uniform for the week,” one of them said.

“And the male doctors are all dressed as elves!” the other one added.

“Okay, Santa,” Lisa said, as a young fellow wearing normal clothes and holding an elaborate camera walked up to join us. “This is Paul, our photographer, and he’ll take the pictures that we’ll give to the parents. Each child will come up and sit on your lap for a minute or two. Then Dr. Kelly will pass you a toy, and Dr. Stockton will hand you a candy cane to give each one. Sound good?”

“Just perfect,” I said. As I looked at the line of excited children, I had almost forgotten that we were all in a cancer treatment center.

The first few children all went very smoothly. It felt just like being at a mall. They would sit on my lap, we’d talk for a brief time, Paul would take a few pictures, and then the next child would hop up.

But then I saw a little girl with a tube inserted into her nose, snaking back behind her ear, and then down her chest. She seemed too weak to climb up onto my lap herself, so I reached out for her incredibly carefully so as not to knock out the tube and gently brought her up
onto my knee. Everything seemed okay, and I made certain to put her back down just as carefully when we finished.

I didn’t want to inadvertently do something wrong and cause one of the children harm, so before the next child came forward, I quickly turned to one of the doctors. “Is there any special way I should be picking them up when they have tubes?” I asked quietly.

“Exactly the way you just did it,” she answered.

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said. “I had no idea how to do it.”

“Really?” she looked surprised. “You did that so naturally, I just figured you’d done it lots of times before.”

As the line moved on, I realized that not all of these children were patients. Families traveled to the clinic together, with brothers and sisters joining their siblings, and many of the healthier children had gotten into line first. But slowly and steadily, I began to notice more sick and weakened children—their skin a paler color, tubes in noses or arms, a lack of hair on many of their heads, and even a number of children in wheelchairs, too weak to stand up.

All my hesitations vanished as my Santa Claus persona took over completely. I refused to see these children as anything other than children—not sick children or weak children, but just children who each wanted or needed to see a jolly Santa. And so I pushed aside my
fears and simply put myself fully at ease with each and every one of them. In turn, they all seemed to be totally comfortable with me.

By the time we got further down the line, some of the children appeared too weak to be lifted out of their wheelchairs. For those kids, I just kneeled down next to them and talked at eye level, allowing Paul to take some wonderful photos.

Some children felt embarrassed to have their picture taken because they had lost their hair. I would never force a photo on any child, but a few parents of some of the more reluctant children asked me if I could maybe convince their son or daughter to take a picture anyway. And so I would try a number of different approaches. In one case, I posed with my chin on top of a boy’s head, my beard completely covering up his baldness, which made him giggle.

Another girl who looked to be around ten years old told me that she felt ugly without her hair. I responded in a soft and gentle voice, “You know, you don’t need hair to look beautiful,” and I took her chin and lifted it up to look directly into her pretty eyes. “I can see that you’re a very beautiful little girl. I bet your parents think so, too, right? They’d love to get a photo of you with Santa. And I’ll be honest with you: it would be a true honor for me to have a picture taken with such a beautiful little girl.”

She smiled for the photo—a sincere and touching
smile from the heart—and I caught a glimpse of her parents, off to the side, crying when they saw a joyful look on their precious daughter’s face as she sat next to Santa Claus. It was all I could do to keep from shedding a tear myself. None of these children, none of these families, deserved this misfortune. But I held myself together. Santa remained jolly for every child in that waiting area.