Santa is a still a pretty big deal at our house. Even with most of our childern grown, there is no question that the magic and spirit of Santa are alive and well in our family.
I still believe–at least in all the good things that Santa represents–but then I had the advantage of having Santa Claus for a Dad. When we were kids (pre-teens), my sisters and I had the task of being the elves and making little gifts for Santa to give out each year on Christmas Eve. Santa was a family friend (actually a few different friends over the years) and my dad was Santa’s driver. My mom was the organizer and Santa visited families in our church and town who had children young enough to be excited over a personal visit from the jolly fat man himself on Christmas Eve.
When I was about 12 or 13, Santa came down with the flu on Christmas Eve. Try as they might, my parents couldn’t find a replacement Santa at the last minute. My dad decided that he would do it, rather than risk disappointing the children. My sisters and I were horrified–even my mom wasn’t too excited. See, my dad had been a career Marine and there was no doubt in our minds that he had sprung forth from the womb a full-fledged Marine and all the toughness that entailed. He was also skinny as a rail. He was the tough guy, not mean or harsh, but definitely a very strict dad, certainly not the first one you would think of for jolly and we were convinced that he would “ruin” Christmas for all our friends’ children. Well, Dad being Dad won (I told you he was tough–determined is probably a better adjective).
Mom ended up being the driver that night and we girls waited at home for their return. About 30 minutes or so after they left, one of my mom’s closest friends called. Their first stop had been to a very close family friend’s house to visit with all their grandchildren. She wanted to know who the Santa was who was with my mom. We thought it was a joke. She said he was the best Santa she had ever seen. She really had no idea it was our dad. We got several similar calls that night. From that night on, I knew that Santa really was magic. When Dad put on the suit, he truly became Santa. He was a completely different person and I don’t think I ever saw him happier than he was on Christmas Eve.
For the next 10 years, my dad was Santa every year on Christmas Eve. When my sister Marie was 19, he decided he needed a “real” Santa suit. The one they had used for years was getting pretty worn and threadbare. So, Dad and Marie went shopping and picked out top quality velvet, fur and leather for the belt. He even bought real boots and he went to a professional wig shop for the wig and beard. Here is the portrait she did of him that year.
Sadly, he died before Kathryn was born, but Kyle is lucky enough to remeber a little of his grandfather’s magic. But we put his portrait in a place of honor every year at Christmas next to the sign my mom gave each us the first Christmas after his passing that says “We still believe in Santa Claus.” And at our house we do.
Merry Christmas
By the way, I know some of you who read this remember our wonderful Santa. I would love for you to share your stories and memories here with us.
