As we pack away the Christmas ornaments for another year
let me suggest something for next year - a Santa Claus suit complete with beard.
It's a fun thing.
I discovered the magic qualities of impersonating the jolly gentleman of childhood fantasy
through the insight of that wonderful lady who shares my bed and board.
It all started when I volunteered to tend a Salvation Army kettle. Good Wife then volunteered to sew me a Santa costume, the better to loosen the purse strings of potential contributors.
Before the season was over I not only had filled a red kettle for worthy charity but also had intrigued half the county, and myself in the bargain.
Consider these incidents:
AT KETTLE ONE - Crippled
lady, face etched with pain, braces herself on
arm - crutches to look me over carefully. I say, "Merry
Christmas."
Lady nods, hobbles into nearby doctor's office.
Five minutes later, a nurse comes out of office
and drops $10 into kettle. "One of our
patients asked me to give you this and wish you
a Merry Christmas."
AT KETTLE TWO - Elderly
gentleman drops a dollar into the kettle and declares
he used to collect for the Salvation Army. So
we had a long talk.
Turns out that Elderly Gentleman is a retired
construction worker from New Jersey who deplores
the shoddy building practices of today. "We had pride in our work back then," he
says.
I notice a Masonic ring on his finger so give
him the secret sign as we shake hands goodbye. Big smile. "Fifty-five years, senior warden, New Jersey 603." He
throws another dollar into the kettle.
AT KETTLE THREE -
Tug at my coat. I look around to see two five-year-old girls with beautiful red hair. Maybe
twins, certainly close sisters.
"Hi Santa."
I squat down, "Hello, sweethearts."
Both give me a generous hug. "What
would you like for Christmas?"
"Play dough," says the first little
beauty.
"Hammer and saw," says the second.
GENERAL OBSERVATIONS -
Surprise at the frequency of contributions by poorly
dressed folks who appear to need a little charity
for themselves.
Delight at the number of little children who want to talk to Santa Claus.
Gratitude for those who slip in $20 bills.
Amusement at the double-takes of motorists who
pass me on the road while I'm driving to
my location. Most recover in time to wave and holler, "Ho,
ho, ho."
Youngest son, now 20 years old, is so entranced with the possibilities of Santa costume and beard he wears it to a friend's Christmas party. More effective than a lamp shade on the head. Won a six-pack of beer for being best-dressed reveler.
Success of Youngest Son inspires the mother of my children to other capers - always, of course, involving me as the point man.
Such as:
Sitting on the prow of our boat in the U.S. Power Squadron parade.
Delivering Christmas cookies to our neighbors and singing funny ditties she composed for the occasion.
Surprising Oldest Daughter who flew into Southwest Florida Regional Airport the day before Christmas.
Now, there's a tale.
As I clomped into the
airport terminal the public address system
announced, "Ladies and
Gentlemen, Santa Claus has just arrived on
the lower concourse."
Before you could say, "On Donner, on Blitzen," grandparents
with little children came rushing up wanting
personal interviews for moppets of all sizes,
shapes and ages.
I promised cabbage patch
dolls, talking bears and bicycles with gay
abandon. I did
have the decency, however, to turn down a request
for a Jaguar.
I was an equal sensation
on the upper concourse. The
crowd waiting along with me for the arrival
of relatives and friends bribed me to greet their
parties.
When Eldest Daughter arrived
I rushed up, threw my arms around her, pinched
her behind and boomed, "And
what do you want for Christmas little girl?"
I got an angry shove,
then an embarrassed shriek, "Father!"
The crowd laughed and applauded.
I took several bows.
I can hardly wait until next year.
