Maybe

I have ‘played’ Father Christmas at my wife’s Christmas Tree farm for the past four years.

 

This year will begin my 5th Season appearing as Father Christmas.

 

No autographs, please.

 

I’ve learned a lot in these past seven years.

 

I’ve learned that wearing a thick velvet Father Christmas costume is not very ‘joyful’ when it’s 90 degrees outside.

 

I’ve learned that it is nearly impossible to get wet candy cane pieces out of one’s beard.

 

And I’ve learned that kids say the darnedest things.

 

I know that there used to be a television show by that name. It was hosted by convicted rapist Bill Cosby. Just to be clear, Bill was a creepy dude. I am not.

 

Well, at least I don’t think so.

 

There are a lot of children every year that look at me like I’m an alien from Beta Omicron Delta III.

 

As soon as their mother starts to hand them to me, this particular group of children go from calm little cherubs to screaming banshees.

 

I don’t know what it is about a Santa Claus costume that freaks little kids out, but apparently it does.

 

Those kids just wail and no amount of coaxing from their parents can stop them. Even promises of candy or extravagant gifts can shut up those little banshees.

 

Some kids, however, will actually sit in my lap and talk to me. It’s these kids that say the darnedest things.

 

I always start by asking kids if they’ve been good. I’ve gotten some pretty unusual answers to that question over the years.

 

Most children get wide-eyed and nod their heads yes. But some kids… well, their answers can be rather entertaining.

 

Last year, I asked one little boy if he had been good and he looked at me with big blue eyes and then started to cry.

 

He never told me why he burst into tears. I’m thinking the kid ran over the dog with his Big Wheel.

 

And I always ask what they want for Christmas. That is a legal requirement of all members of the International Brotherhood of Santa Impersonators, I’m sure.

 

Some kids have their list ready and are just waiting for me to ask.

 

And they can ask for some odd things.

 

One little boy of maybe six years old asked me for a rifle. Not a toy rifle. A real rifle.

 

And, of course, in that situation I am obligated by the IBSI (see above) to give the standard answer.

 

“You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”

 

And then there are the dolls. So many different dolls and I have to act like I am familiar with the latest models.

 

“I want a Silly Sally doll. She eats and then poops in her diaper.”

 

Wait, poops? That seems like a rather unpleasant game. Cleaning fake crap off the bottom of fake infant. But of course, I always say yes, regardless of how much the parent waves their arms and makes a sour face.

 

Some parents don’t want their kids to have a pooping doll for Christmas.

 

Party poopers!

 

Hey, they were the ones who wanted kids. Don’t blame me if your child turns out to be one of those nuts who stands on the roof of the Post Office with a high powered rifle. Or has an unnatural attraction to bodily waste.

 

There seems to be trends in gift requests. A couple of years ago, the popular wish list included a hoverboard, whatever that is. And then it was monster trucks followed the next year by go carts.

 

When a child asks me for a go cart, I always glance up at the parents to get approval before I say ‘sure.’

 

The mother typically shakes her head ‘No.’. The dad, on the other hand, smiles and nods.

 

That’s because dad always wanted a go cart and his parents said no. This is finally his chance to get one.

 

Some kids don’t know what they want so I have to make suggestions.

 

How about a pet octopus? Or maybe a bag of knives.

 

Again the mom shakes her head and the dad just smiles and nods. Every guy needs a pet octopus.

 

But sometimes kids say stuff that I am not prepared for.

“I want my mom to get a job so we can have Christmas.”

 

One kid told me that a couple years ago. As he talked with me, his poor mother stood a few feet away and cried silently.

 

It’s those kind of kids that I want to just wrap up in my big velvet costume and take home with me. The ones who you know won’t have a big mound of gifts under their Christmas tree but don’t ask for anything other than for their sister get well or their parents get back together.

 

Those are the tough ones.

 

But I always smile, say ‘Ho,ho,ho’ and tell them Santa will be bringing them just what they want.

 

It’s a lie but I can’t stand the thought of disappointing these little kids.

 

But of all the little kids who have sat on my lap over the years, there is one little boy I will never forget.

 

He arrived at the playground wearing a dirty Scooby-Do sweatshirt and no shoes.

 

It was in the 40’s and the kid was barefoot.

 

Most people would be repulsed by this dirty little kid but not me. These are the ones who I love the most.

 

This boy hopped up in my lap and immediately yanked on my beard. I knew what he was doing. He was making sure I was the ‘real’ Santa. What he wanted to tell me could only be shared with the real Santa.

 

Satisfied that my beard was real, the little boy looked up at me with wide eyes. Apparently he has never met a Santa who didn’t have a fake beard.

 

I asked the little kid if he had been good and he whispered, “yes.” Then I asked him what he wanted for Christmas.

 

The little boy looked away like he was trying to Imagine what he wanted Santa to bring him on Christmas morning. Finally, he turned back to me and

 

I could see tears in his eyes.

 

“I only want one thing for Christmas,” he said. “I want my daddy to come home.”

 

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this. That question was not in the Father Christmas handbook.

 

I looked at the little boy’s mother and she was fighting back tears as well.

 

I told the little boy that I was sure his daddy was coming home and everything would be okay. He looked at me with those big eyes and I saw a small glimpse of hope in the kid’s eyes.

 

“Really?,” he asked between sniffles.

 

“I am sure that he will coming back before too long. In the meantime, I know that he really loves you.”

 

At that, a big grin appeared on the little boy’s face and he looked over at his mom. She nodded with a look that ‘I told you so.’

 

I handed the little fellow a candy cane and he hopped down to go play. After he was gone, his mother came up to me and told me thank you for giving her son hope.

 

“His dad just up and left us last year. I have no idea where he is but I don’t want to tell him that and ruin his Christmas,” she said.

 

Hope. I guess that is the one thing I always give to the little kids who come to visit me. Hope.

 

And isn’t that what Christmas is all about? Hope.

 

We hope that we get something we have always wanted. We hope that everyone will be happy. We hope for a better year next year.

 

The mother grasped my hand and told me thank you again.

 

I had given her hope, too.

 

Maybe dad would come home for Christmas. Maybe this year will be the year their family was whole again.

 

Maybe.