Santa Revealed

Christmas Day, 2013

     360 men and a handful of women, bundled in ratty vests, thin coats, lined faces, rough hands and grateful murmurings shuffled into the room. They got a hot meal and a place to sort through their feelings about Christmas while listening to Gail playing carols on the piano. The first group of nine were served their slab of drippy ham, semi-green peas with orange bits I believe were pieces of carrot, a hunk of stuck au gratin potatoes, watery yams and a flaky croissant. I cheerfully asked if they had a favorite Christmas story, and since no one piped-up, I told them of my daughter’s inquiry, at four years of age, about whether Santa is real. Given I wanted to always be truthful to her, I admitted Santa is not real. In her next naive breathe, she demanded “Then the Easter Bunny is you too?” I explained that other parents may want their kids to believe in Santa so she has to promise me she will not tell anyone what I revealed to her. She emphatically assured me her lips are sealed.

     Of course, the very next day at Wee Care Daycare, Taelor spilled the beans and told all of the kids Santa is a fake. Her best friend, Shannon cried all day. Her mother called me that evening, one of many conversations I was to have that night, complaining that Taelor ruined her child’s magic of Santa Clause. It took me some time to convince the parents that all would be well the minute the kids saw him at the Mall or were read a Christmas story.

     The recipients of the Union Gospel Mission’s complimentary meal, and my daughter’s tale seemed happy to spend the time with me and the other twelve tables in the vast, open room that converts to sleeping quarters after dark.

     After milk and cookies, a cup of Kemp’s ice cream and a bit of chatter, the guys were on their way and another group moved forward from the long line out the door. I sat, at one point, to have horrid coffee with powdered creamer and a Danish with the crew. A very grateful Christmas day.