Believing in Santa

Dave and I were attending one of those early season Christmas holiday markets in 2015 that always kick off the holiday season.  This one was an annual event at the Washington County  Historic Courthouse in Stillwater.  The staff dress in Victorian era costumes, and the elaborate holiday decorations throughout the 150-year-old building with its period wood trim and fixtures lends a festive mood the second you walk in the door and as you wander through the various rooms packed with vendors.   

Of course, a Santa encounter was a part of the weekend.  He was stationed at the back of one of the rooms, and impressively authentic-looking – real beard and his own white hair, spectacles perched on his nose, appropriately rotund in rich velvet regalia. He was smiling and HoHoHo-ing as people wandered by as he sat on his throne.  I was perusing some handmade goods at one of the tables and looked up to see a special needs child of about eight or nine shuffle being reluctantly ushered through the door by his dad. He wore heavy-rimmed round glasses, had one shoe untied, and entered with eyes straight ahead, looking a little uncomfortable as he saw  all the people in the room.  He froze in his tracks the moment he saw The Man in Red across the room.  Santa noticed and called to him to come on over. But the boy stayed put, staring, and then loudly blurted out, “Are you the real Santa or just someone dressed up to look like him?”

The silence in the room was instantaneous.  Everyone looked up, startled with a tinge of panic, waiting to see how this would play out; I’m pretty sure even the canned music held its breath.  But Santa was unperturbed, silently standing and slowly approaching the boy. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. (Who knew Santa carried a wallet???)  Flipping it open, he held it out to his nervous inquisitor.  Pointing at what looked like a driver’s license, he said, “Well here’s my identification. What does that say right here?”

The boy cautiously leaned forward, peered through his thick glasses at the card, looked up at the man, then stared back down at the wallet. “Look! That’s him in the picture! It says his address is the North Pole!” his dad said.

Seconds passed as he studied the license, then looked up at the bearded man’s face. Suddenly he lunged and threw his arms around Santa’s ample waist in a giant hug that nearly knocked them both over. He held on tight and jabbered away excitedly as I caught snippets about wearing glasses just like him and toy cars and questions about reindeer while his dad tried to pry him loose.

My vision started to blur as I started seeing rainbows around the lights and I had to turn away at that point, but not before noticing how many other people were also blinking fast or dabbing at their eyes as they returned to their shopping.  But everyone was smiling now.