Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (4 page)

I turned up the radio to listen. Michael D. called, and Fallon’s mother answered. “Just a sec, I’ll go get her,” I heard the woman say. A few seconds later, Fallon picked up, and I sprang into action. I dropped my cell phone on the seat and grabbed the bag of toys. Silently tiptoeing across the dewy yard in the wee hours of the morning with a sack of toys slung over my shoulder, I wasn’t just playing Santa. In my being, I was Santa.

In the meantime, the morning show listeners heard the following: “Hi, Fallon. This is Michael D. I feel so terrible about what happened yesterday. Did you get anything for Christmas? Did the big guy leave you anything?”

“No,” she said sadly. “He didn’t leave me anything.”

Cathy Lee started scolding Michael D. for being such a bad person, and then I reached the count of ten. I started jingling some bells outside the house as loudly as I could. The sound was barely audible to listeners, but Fallon could hear it, and Cathy Lee’s stopwatch had reached ten seconds, too. So she stopped her scolding of Michael D. and said, “Wait…Fallon, do you hear something? What’s that noise? Are those bells?”

Michael D. chimed in, “Yeah! I think I hear them, too! Fallon, is someone outside?”

And then I let out with a loud and jolly, “Ho, ho, ho!” Cathy Lee told Fallon to open the front door to see who it was. (Fallon’s parents had been told I’d be coming, so both of them were watching and filming the whole thing.)

“Oh my gosh! It’s Santa!” Fallon shouted into the phone.

“Hello there, Fallon,” I said to her, smiling and using my deep Santa voice. She was a little bit of a thing, not much taller than my waist, standing there astonished in her yellow bunny pajamas with the cordless phone in her hand. “Good morning and Merry Christmas! May I come in?”

“Sure!” Fallon let me in. I said hello to her parents and then got down on one knee, speaking loudly enough so that radio listeners could hear me through the telephone speaker, although at that moment, for me at least, only Fallon really mattered.

“I wanted to come here in person to apologize to you, Fallon. The North Pole operator got it wrong. I reviewed the case personally—even though I was so busy—because I knew what a good little girl you’ve been. So I checked with the elves, and they assured me that it was Michael D. who told you to do this. It wasn’t your fault.” I started opening my bag of presents. “Now, I could have just left your presents under the tree, but I wanted to come here this morning so that I could apologize to you in person for the whole mix-up and give you all these special presents.”

“These are all for
me
???” Fallon’s eyes opened wide as she looked into the huge bag.

“They sure are,” I said. Realizing that Fallon was still holding the telephone in her hand, I asked, “By the way, Fallon, who are you on the phone with?”

“Michael D.,” she said.

“Well, ask Michael D. what he got in
his
stocking this Christmas.”

She did, and Michael D. said glumly, “I got a lump of coal in my stocking. Santa told me that I was really bad.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Michael D. is going to have to work extra hard this next year to get off Santa’s naughty list.” I handed the bag of presents to Fallon’s parents. “Why don’t you put those under the tree and Fallon can open her gifts…”

Fallon ran over to the other side of the room and
started ripping off the wrapping paper as fast as she could, telling Michael D. and Cathy Lee about all the great toys she opened. That’s when I noticed Fallon was no longer paying attention to me because her back was turned. So as quietly as I could, I slipped out of the house and hurried back to the van. Once there, with the cell phone line still open, I let Cathy Lee know that I had left the house.

I turned up the radio to hear Cathy Lee, who was still on the line with Fallon, ask, “Hey, Fallon, is it okay if we interview Santa?”

I heard a brief pause of silence, and then Fallon gasped, “He’s gone!”

“He’s
gone
?” Cathy Lee repeated, in mock surprise.

“Yeah. I guess once his toys are delivered, he’s got no reason to hang around.”

As I drove back to the radio station shortly after 7:00
A.M.
, I listened to caller after caller phoning in to say, “Michael D., you’ve redeemed yourself,” or, “I was so angry at you yesterday, but today you’ve helped that little girl believe in Christmas again. I forgive you.” And, most gratifying for me, “I loved hearing Santa visit Fallon and make her so happy. That was exactly the kind of Christmas spirit we needed.”

As I drove home that Christmas morning to my waiting family, listening to dozens more happy callers, I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I’d made a difference
in the world, even if just a small one. It’s hard to describe, really, but I think this is something we’ve all felt whenever we do something from the heart, with the pure intention of making someone else happy.

For my efforts, the radio station let me keep the red Santa Claus suit. But I had something even more valuable: the memory of the look on little Fallon’s face that Christmas morning. For her, the experience was simply joy. But for me, that moment of seeing her eyes light up as she went from despair to delight was life-changing. I suddenly felt wistful about hanging up my Santa suit at the end of the season. I wanted to be able to recapture that magical moment when Fallon opened the door and saw me, and do it every Christmas from now on.

You see, the world can be a topsy-turvy place—as we all know. Even the best-laid plans can go awry, disappointments happen, and conflicts and bitterness arise. But at Christmastime, I realized, the world
wants
to put the strife and cynicism on hold in the name of goodwill and peace on earth. Folks need to feel that Christmas spirit, just like that one caller said. And if I could help people do that just by being Santa and delivering a few much-needed Christmas miracles now and then…well, by golly, that’s just what I was going to do.

I
DIDN’T GET EVERYTHING RIGHT AS SANTA IN
the beginning. Oh, not by a long shot! I made plenty of mistakes in those early days, not the least of which was learning how to answer those oh-so-tricky Christmas questions from children.

Stage two of my transformation into a real live Santa came nearly a year after my experience with Fallon. Out of the blue, I received a phone call from a stranger. “Hi, you don’t know me, but my name is Dale,” he said. “I got your number from the radio station. They said you were the person who played Santa Claus for them last year.”

“Yes, that’s correct,” I said, not quite sure where this was heading. But I hadn’t forgotten my tiny wish from last year to somehow re-create that Santa magic, so I was keen to hear what came next.

“My wife and I live in Charleston, and we have three kids. We were wondering if you’d be willing to come to our house as Santa Claus and hand out some toys to them. We would pay you for your time, of course.”

“Well, it would have to be in the evening,” I said. “I work during the day.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” he assured me. “Their bedtime isn’t until 8:30. How much do you charge?”

Charge?
The idea had never occurred to me. The real Santa doesn’t charge for anything, of course. Should I? There must be professional Santas, I supposed, but I certainly didn’t see myself that way. Plus, it seemed almost ridiculous to me to get paid to make children happy.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If you make a donation to a children’s Christmas charity, as long as you show me the receipt, that’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? We’re happy to pay you.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I answered. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

So we set up a plan. I would arrive at 7:00
P.M.
and knock on the door. The father would answer and hand me a bag of presents as I came in. Then he would bring me to the living room to say, “Look who’s here!” I’d walk in and hand out gifts, and the kids would get all excited. It would be easy…or so I thought.

When the father answered the door, he put a finger to his lips to shush me as he led me down a short hallway to a closet. He opened the door and pulled down a bag of wrapped presents from the top shelf.

Oops,
I thought. I’d already made my first mistake: I didn’t bring an authentic-looking Santa sack with me. The bag that the man handed me was a big plastic one with a recognizable store’s name written on it in large letters. Santa wouldn’t be carrying a shopping bag with him—Christmas miracles don’t arrive via retail express! I made a mental note to get myself a real Santa sack if I ever did another home visit.

I walked into the living room to find three young children in their pajamas. Sure enough, when I entered the room, the oldest boy spied the bag right away. “Why do you have a bag from a store?” he asked suspiciously. Mistake number two: Never underestimate the observational powers of children. They don’t miss a thing!

Good question, kiddo. Okay, think, Sal…think. Why would Santa have a bag from a store?
I thought about Ashley. What would Linda and I say to her to keep her belief in the Santa legend alive? The year before, I’d done a little improvising as Santa while driving around town in the radio station van, but this was a whole other level. I looked around the room and down into the bag of brightly wrapped gifts with their ribbons and bows, desperate to find some inspiration.

Then I got it.

“Ho, ho, ho!” I bellowed. “Santa wanted to make sure to get here before your bedtime tonight, which I know is 8:30, so I grabbed the first bag I could find.
Wouldn’t you know, it turned out to be a bag the elves use to collect scraps of wrapping paper!”

“How did you know our bedtime is 8:30?” the boy asked, slightly mollified.

“Santa has his ways,” I said with a wink.

Phew!
That seemed to have worked, thank goodness. I handed out the presents, which the kids quickly opened. Then they looked over at me.
Okay, what should I do next?

I suggested we sing a few Christmas songs, which they enjoyed, and then we took a few photos like I’d seen Santas in shopping malls do. Still feeling a little awkward and not knowing how long they expected me to stay, I heard the mother asking me if I’d like to have something to eat. The family had already finished dinner, but they had some leftovers, and Mom was eager to make up a plate for me. “Really, Santa, it’s no trouble. Would you like some?”

Five pairs of eyes stared at me, waiting for my answer. I certainly didn’t want to offend this family by refusing their generous offer. With more time to consider the situation (or experience under my Santa belt), I would have politely declined. But I felt put on the spot for a quick answer, so before I knew it, I replied, “Sure, I’d love some. Thank you so much.”

Mistake number three.

As I sat there eating in front of the entire family, I felt
incredibly uncomfortable. The real Santa is a mythical icon—he doesn’t stay for dinner! He comes in the middle of the night and, at most, grabs a few cookies off a plate and washes them down with a glass of milk. I realized that while in the red suit, I’d have to take care not to break character. Santa meant too much to people to see him do mundane things. Later on, I didn’t use a cell phone in public while dressed as Santa, or refer to my wife as anything other than Mrs. Claus. And I certainly didn’t sit at a table and polish off a plate of meatloaf and potatoes!

I’d ultimately learn from this mistake, but that night, I was stuck. As I worked my way through a full dinner, the children took the opportunity to ask me all sorts of questions. After a few more Christmas seasons, I learned to field these kinds of questions with ease. But that night, I might as well have been a parent caught putting presents under the tree, fumbling for an explanation.

“Santa, why didn’t I get the big-girl bicycle I asked you for?” asked the little girl, who appeared to be all of four years old.

Why indeed?
Having a child of my own right around her age (and of course being a professional safety inspector), I had my own thoughts on why a bicycle might not be a good idea just yet, but that wasn’t for me to say. So I stayed vague. “I’ll have to check my records on that one and get back to you.”

Then the middle child, a boy, piped in with, “Can I get a video game next year?”

Praying this wasn’t breaking some family code of theirs regarding video games, I said, “Well, if you’re good, you might get one.”

“How good?” he wanted to know.

“Umm…
really
good?” I answered. I was feeling my way through this, so it came out more like a question.

Thankfully, the oldest boy tossed out another question before his brother could interrogate me further. Wow, they were relentless! Once again trying to crack the mystery of Santa, he said, “Hey, where’s your reindeer and sleigh?”

Okay, now this one I could answer! My mind suddenly leapt to the scene in
Miracle on 34th Street
where Santa is in the courtroom and they bring in a reindeer and tell him to make it fly to prove he’s Santa Claus. Remembering Santa’s answer in the movie, I said a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho! Everyone knows that reindeer can only fly on Christmas Eve.” Phew, dodged another one!