The Magic of Santa Clause

As I prepared to set off on my weekly Sunday errands, I decided to invite my 3.5 year old to tag along. O and I zipped around town returning movies, picking up some household necessities, and dropping by our local food co-op. After the must-dos were done, we ducked into our local toy store for some time at the train table and a little holiday wish list browsing.

We raced trains, selected Christmas must-haves, and picked out a few toy ideas for the little brother. We then headed over to the attached deli to grab a hot chocolate.

As we made our way down the hall from the toy store to the deli, we approached a man dressed in layers and a heavy overcoat. He was hunched over with his head down on one of the cafe-style tables that line the hallway outside the store. His face was covered with an overgrown grey-white beard, and lines and creases etched its surface in an almost map-like story of struggle.

He has, for as long as I remember, been part of the landscape of my hometown. During the winters of my childhood, I recall sitting in the back seat of our family car, layered in the warmth of a turtleneck, a wool sweater and a coat. I would see him, this large, soft man. He too was layered, and yet his layers were tattered and exposed. He huddled in the corner of the drafty city parking garage.

He is quiet and introverted, while simultaneously friendly and reassuring. The local businesses know him well, and often allow him to grab a warm drink and an empty seat for some time off the streets. He is even welcome in the local cop shop, where he occasionally grabs a few hours of shut-eye.

As we approached his table, I kept a firm glance on O. I could see his gaze locked on the old, soft man. I anticipated the inquisition that was to come. "Mommy," he whispered, not realizing he already had my attention. "Why is he sleeping?". "What," I replied, attempting to buy myself some time to form the best response. "Why is Santa Clause sleeping," O whispered.

In that moment, my oldest son's innocent heart made my own swell with love. A man that too many see as merely a vagrant, my babe sees as Santa Clause, the creator of magical moments and wonderful gifts.

"Well sweetie, he must be tired from going over every one's wish list and gathering all the goodies he plans to pass out" I uttered.

"He needs his rest so he'll be ready for Christmas," he reassured.