A Christmas Jar for Santa: A Christmas Jars Story

A Christmas Jar for
Santa

A Christmas Jars
Story

Jason F. Wright

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Jason F. Wright

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A Christmas Jar for
Santa

A Christmas Jars
Story

Jason F. Wright

What is the
Christmas Jars
tradition?

“...one by one, family
members will empty their pockets and delight at the cling-clang of
change hitting the empty glass bottom. Most days will yield a
quarter, a dime, perhaps two nickels and a stray penny.
Occasionally Mother will make change for herself by drop- ping in a
worn dollar bill and pulling out an appropriate combination of cool
silver coins. Over the months that follow, the gathering change
will leave no recognizable void. Occasionally the temptation to
borrow for laundry, a movie, or the ice-cream truck will float
through the house, over the jar, and out the back door. But it
never lands. The money is spoken for.”
(Excerpt from Christmas Jars, copyright 2005, published by
Shadow Mountain.)

Christmas
Jars
, a
New York
Times
bestselling novella by Jason Wright,
first became a phenomenon during the 2005 holiday season. Readers
across America reacted to the message of daily giving and sacrifice
by creating their own Christmas Jars.

Today, thousands of glass
jars rest on kitchen countertops, slowly collecting the spare
change generated each and every day. On Christmas Eve, each jar,
now overflowing with both money and goodwill, will anonymously find
a new home. In turn, the grateful recipients will put the money to
good use in their lives and begin their own jar. Thus hearts and
lives are changed and the cycle continues.

A Christmas Jar for
Santa

A Christmas Jars
Story

I’m not much of a
writer,
but I figure I should tell this
story. You see, this Christmas was the best I ever had, and I’ve
had a lot of great Christmases. You could say that Christmas is my
job these days.

See, I’m already ahead of
myself. You need to know some things before what happened last week
will make any sense to you. And I really want it to make
sense.

Let’s start back in ’54.
The Korean War had just ended, and my angel Pauline—God rest her
soul—was waiting for me to come back so we could get married. We
were hardly ever apart from the day of our wedding until the day of
her funeral.

We tried to have children,
but it wasn’t supposed to be. That’s what Pauline said, anyway. She
always loved kids, and I guess it rubbed off on me,
eventually.

Christmas became really
special to us because of the kids. Pauline volunteered us for
everything around the holidays, especially anything that involved
children. She would get such a look on her face when she was with
them. She would look down at a fresh- scrubbed, freckled
five-year-old face and then look up at me and tell me with her eyes
how much it hurt to have to borrow other people’s kids. No matter
how many times she told me it wasn’t my fault, part of me
wondered.

After leaving the Army, I
went to work in a factory. By the time I retired, my hair was
completely white. I was only sixty, but I guess it was just time.
That Christmas, Jake Carnahan, the church Santa, took ill, and
Pauline talked me into taking his place. I’ve been doing it ever
since. Goodness, that was exactly twenty years ago. Six and a half
since Pauline passed on.

Anyway, I grew a big white
beard and even put on a little extra weight—Pauline helped by being
the best cook in the valley—and basically spent half the year
getting ready for Christmas. At first, I just stood in for Santa at
the church, but then Pauline talked me into going to the hospital
over in Greenville, and the next thing I knew, I was as busy as the
jolly old man himself.

I remember the feeling I
had the first time a little boy looked me over and finally trusted
me enough to share his Christmas wishes with me. I hadn’t been that
nervous since the war. In fact, at that moment I think I would have
been glad for a foxhole to hide in. Young Allen Christensen told me
that he wanted something called a Walkman. Well, nowadays I know
just about every toy and gadget out there, but back then I just
said what Pauline had told me to say when I couldn’t say anything
else.

“
Have you been a good
enough boy to earn a Walking Man?” I asked in my jolliest
voice.

“
Not Walking Man,” he said
patiently. “Walkman. It plays music.”

“
Have you been good enough
to earn a Walkman?” I tried again.

“
Yes, I have been very
good. Even my mom says so.”

I panicked and looked
around for Pauline, but she had her back to me. My eyes were
finally drawn to the face of Allen’s father. He smiled and gave a
nod so slight it could only have been shared by us. “Yes, I think I
might be able to add a Walkman to your Christmas list.”

Oh, that was a wonderful
moment. My chest swelled with so much pride and happiness that I
thought my red Santa jacket was going to pop its buttons. My
nervousness left me, and I have never been worried since. Pauline
says I’m a natural.

I’ve had hundreds of kids
tell me what they want for Christmas. Only Santa Claus himself has
taken more orders, I reckon. Some requests were pretty unusual.
Katherine Collier was really too old to be asking Santa for
presents, but as her mother said, she was “covering her bases.” She
looked me right in the eye and told me she was expecting a real,
living, full-sized horse. “I don’t expect it to be under the tree,
of course,” she said. “Out in the yard will be fine.”

By then, I had learned a
thing or two. “Horses and such are special requests. You should
send a letter to the North Pole. The elves up there will check the
records. We’ll see what we can do.” If you talk to kids as if
they’re grownups, they will usually act as grown up as they
can.

Katherine narrowed her
eyes, nodded very seriously, and said, “I’ll do that.”

I can picture her clearly
because her daughter Amber just sat on my knee the other
day.

Time moves so
quickly.

I had best be getting on
with my story. You have more to do than read the ramblings of an
old man.

Besides taking requests on
behalf of the North Pole, I also handed out presents that people
wanted to give to each other anonymously. Like everything else
Pauline and I did, this part of our Christmas work started out
small but grew a little every year. The first present I ever gave
out was a scarf that Pauline had knitted. It was as red as the
season and had green fringe. Pauline made dozens of them over the
years. Kelly Winston got that first one. There was almost an
awkward scene when she saw what it was. Pauline was looking on, and
Kelly’s face fell a little when she saw the scarf. I moved my head
to block Pauline’s view and whispered, “You’re getting this now so
there will be room in Santa’s sleigh for all your toys.” Then I
moved aside to make sure Pauline could see the new look on Kelly’s
face.

Pauline made scarves, and I
made little wooden boats. Soon, churches and businesses began
donating clothes and toys. This year, I personally gave out over a
thousand presents. And Erin sent a whole truckload over to another
Santa’s helper across the mountain.

I haven’t mentioned Erin
yet, have I? She’s the only reason I can still do any of this now
that Pauline is gone. I first saw Erin on her 13th birthday. She
stood in the corner of the room and stared at me as I visited with
the children Pauline helped balance on my knee. I looked over at
her several times and smiled at her. I think I even winked once.
Her face stayed frozen in a kind of doubtful scowl. I see a face
like that a few times every year. It seems that kids about that age
start to think differently about Santa and Christmas. I don’t know
why—it’s just as magical that year as it was the year
before.

Erin next touched our lives
seven years ago. Pauline wasn’t even feeling sick yet, and we had
no idea she had cancer. Everything was going on as usual. She had
me booked from Thanksgiving through Christmas, and we were looking
forward to the season. One afternoon in November, she came through
the door carrying a box that was too big for her.

“
Let me get the rest of
them,” I said as I got out of my chair.

“
Oh, no, dear, stay put. I
have a helper today.”

Erin, at that time a senior
in high school, followed her into the house. “Remember me?” she
asked.

“
Of course,” I said. It is
amazing that I forget so many things but remember these
kids.

“
You’re Steve and Julie’s
daughter.”

“
Uh huh.”

“
Erin is going to help us
this year as a service project for school,” Pauline
explained.

“
It’ll look good on my
college applications,” Erin added a little sheepishly.

“
Welcome aboard,” I said
with my most Christmassy smile.

Having Erin with us made
everything so much easier. Pauline and I were able to focus on the
spirit of what we were doing instead of on the details. We could
pick and choose the things that made us happy, and Erin took on the
rest.

She seemed to want to do as
much as possible, and she wrote down every detail in her service
project book. I was worried about her doing the right things for
the wrong reason, but Pauline told me not to worry about it. No
matter what her motives were, Erin made that the best Christmas
Pauline and I ever spent together.

Erin was a huge help that
year, but she became part of the family the next spring. That was
when Pauline’s cancer showed itself and quickly ate away at her.
The doctors offered some experimental treatments, but she wasn’t
interested. I tried to talk her into trying something, anything to
stay a little longer. She said, “I would rather live my last days
happy and strong than my last months bald and sick.”

“
But what about Christmas?
I can’t do it alone.”

“
You’ll do it. You must do
it. Promise me.”

I promised. She passed away
nine and a half weeks later. Erin helped me go through her things.
I pined for her so. When October came, I didn’t want to live, let
alone do the Christmas things that Pauline and I had done together
for so many years.

“
You promised,” Erin
reminded me over the phone from college. “I’ll coordinate from here
and come to help as soon as classes end.”

I went through the motions
that year with Erin at my side. I was not a very jolly man, but we
did some good.

Each of the next five
seasons got easier and easier. Erin did everything over the phone
or during weekend visits. The year she graduated from college, she
went straight to work for the TV station and convinced them to do a
series of stories about our project. I didn’t like the idea much,
but it brought in some more presents, so it worked out all right.
Erin took Pauline’s place in lots of ways and finally seemed to be
doing it because she loved it.

That brings us up to this
year.

I decided back in July that
I am too old to be doing this anymore. Even with Erin’s help, it’s
a lot of work for an old man. When I told Erin, she said, “Oh. I
see. Well, if you can’t keep the promise, I suppose you can’t.”
That was a mean thing to say, but it worked. I knew Pauline would
understand when the time came for me to quit but, truth be told, I
had another year in me. I figured I would give it all I had this
year and then hang up the old black boots and let someone else take
over.