Santa

Santa waved at me last week, and it made me smile. I had gone to one of the malls a few days before Thanksgiving to check out a new store; I refuse to go shopping on Thanksgiving or the day after, as I can do without the mobs and mayhem. Black Friday is so unlike Santa.

It was during the early afternoon of a weekday, and I was standing by myself on one level looking down at the atrium below. Some festive folks were putting the finishing touches on the North Pole display, while Santa sat in his throne checking over his list.

Not wanting to disturb the seasonal scene, I stood there quietly watching while they worked. Santa, being a crafty old soul, must have sensed my presence. He froze, and then lifting his head he looked right at me. At first I felt a little foolish, as if I had been caught spying on him. Then Santa smiled and waved like we were old friends. He may have recognized me, although I can’t imagine how, as it has been such a long time since we sat and talked. I returned his wave.

Like other kids I had seen Santa in parades sitting in his chair on top of a float or riding on a fire truck. I saw him at malls all over the state and in small shacks in small towns. I have pictures to prove it. He didn’t always look the same though and the logistics of him being in so many places at the same time gave me reason to doubt, but Mom explained that it was his helpers or his elves filling in for him while he attended to other duties and obligations.

He would stop at our house on Church Street shortly after supper on Christmas Eve. Dad would take the kids out in the station wagon to look at the Christmas lights in town, and when we came back Santa had been there, somehow slipping past Mom and Colleen, my older sister. He even took time to eat part of a cookie, drink half a glass of milk, and scribble a quick thank-you before moving on to the next house. He also found us at our grandparents in Faribault and our cousins in Tucson.

As I got older Santa quit coming because I quit believing. But many years later he showed up again on Christmas Eve. This time it was to drop off a few things for my little girl and boy who were nestled all snug in their beds. True to form, Santa crumbled his cookie, spilled his milk and left a note.

I know there are good people who don’t want to share Christmas with Santa, but I am not one of them. I am thankful my parents had fun with me at Christmas, and I have no regrets in passing on that tradition to my children. But make no mistake; I believe that Christmas celebrates the birth of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It’s just that I feel there is room for a portly, generous elf to brighten children’s lives while they are still young enough to believe in a little magic. Let’s not wave good-bye to Santa too soon.