Extraordinary and Special Holiday Books

OLIVE, the Orphan Reindeer
copyright, ©Michael Christie
reprinted with Michael’s blessings
CHAPTER 1 - Wolves
The storm in the Barrens raged around the little reindeer with a nose like an olive.
“Mommy! Daddy!”
She’d lost her mother and father and brothers and sisters.
The night wind shrieked. The snowflakes stung her eyes.
“Mommy! Daddy! Where are you?”
But no one could hear.
And now danger! wolves.
She could smell them. They were close. Maybe they got my family, she thought, and want me too.
So the little reindeer ran as fast as she could.
In the fierce storm she didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she had to get away.
The wolves chased her, but she soon left them far behind.
Even when she no longer picked up their scent, she ran and ran.
Finally she came to the North Pole.
CHAPTER 2 - Santa and Mrs. Claus
Gasping for breath, she found herself in front of Santa and Mrs. Claus’s house. Night here was calm and peaceful.
She saw them arm in arm on their doorstep. They were looking at the stars.
Santa Claus laughed when he saw the tired little reindeer.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Look, my dear. A reindeer with an olive for a nose! Goodness! Welcome to the North Pole, little one.”
Mrs. Claus smiled. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest thing though! We’ll have to call you Olive. Right, Santa?” Santa nodded. “Do you like cookies, Olive?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” she said.
“Well, try this,” said Mrs. Claus. She gave Olive a cookie. “It’s raisin and oatmeal fresh from my bakery.”
Olive found it tasty. While she nibbled on it, Mrs. Claus tied a blue bow on her head.
“There, Olive!” Mrs. Claus said, giving her a big hug. “You just needed a mite sprucing up.”
“I hope you can stay a while, Olive,” said Santa.
Olive felt she’d never see her family again. She was an orphan. So she decided to make the North Pole her home.
CHAPTER 3 - Olive’s Jobs
As the years passed and she got bigger, Olive became one of the best skaters among the spare reindeer. She always won the friendly races against them at Candy Cane Pond.
Olive also had important jobs to do during the Christmas season.
She looked through the magic telescope to see which boys and girls were naughty or nice, and reported their names to Number One, the chief elf.
She hauled boxes of presents to Santa Claus’s sleigh on the runway.
She delivered muffins from Mrs. Claus’s bakery to the hospital.
In the toy factory she checked for broken toys coming off a line in Quality Control.
She liked these jobs, but the job Olive wanted more than anything was to be on Santa’s team.
Will I be picked some day? she wondered.
CHAPTER 4 - A Foolish Dream
It was Christmas Eve again. As always Olive wished she could go on the Big Trip. Many of her spare reindeer pals had gone. Why not me? she thought. But maybe that was a foolish dream.
Only this morning an elf had shouted, “You over there no, not you, Jingles. The other reindeer. Yes, you, green nose. Give us some help.”
But at dusk when Olive got off shift, she began to do some serious thinking. Maybe it wasn’t a foolish dream at all. What did that smart alec elf know anyway?
So she decided right then to visit Santa and ask him if she could join the team.
CHAPTER 5 - A Meeting with Santa
As she stood in front of Santa’s house, Olive wasn’t so sure of herself.
Just who do you think you are? she thought.
But she’d come this far so what did she have to lose? All Santa could do was say no.
She hesitated then tapped at Santa’s door.
She waited. No answer.
She tapped again.
No one home.
She sighed. “Oh, well, I tried.”
Just as Olive was about to leave, the door burst open.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Well, well, look who it is!” Santa said. He had only one boot on. “I’m just getting ready to go over to Mission Control to check things out before the Big Trip. What can I do for you, Olive?”
“Hi, Santa. I thought I’d ask if there, uh, was ... was”
“Was what, Olive?”
“Well, anything I could do.”
Santa thought. “No, I can’t think of anything.”
“Oh.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Well uh well”
Olive was tongue-tied.
“Please, I’m really in a hurry,” Santa said. “Well?”
When he hears what I want he’ll laugh at me, Olive thought. That’s worse than a simple no. She just blinked.
“I can’t think of a thing you could do,” Santa said.
“Well, I just thought I’d, you know, ask anyway.”
Santa shrugged. “Thank you for asking, Olive.”
“You’re welcome, Santa.”
She left and Santa scratched his head.
“What a strange conversation,” he muttered.
CHAPTER 6 - Countdown
Take-off time was ninety-seven minutes away.
Best to forget about the Big Trip, Olive felt, by keeping busy. Maybe Mrs. Claus wanted some muffins taken to the hospital.
She headed for the bakery.
Lovely smells drifted from it: mincemeat tarts, chocolate cakes, jelly doughnuts, date squares, brownies, buns, bread, all kinds of muffins and cookies.
“Hi, Olive. That nose of yours sure works mighty fine,” Mrs. Claus said. “Here’s a nice warm raisin and oatmeal cookie just for you.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Claus,” Olive said. “I’m not hungry. I just came over to see if you wanted some muffins taken over to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, we made the muffin delivery this afternoon when you were at the toy factory.”
“Oh.”
Mrs. Claus gave Olive a close look. “What’s the matter, Olive? Why the glum looking face?”
Olive pawed at the ground. “Well it’s nothing. Nothing.”
Mrs. Claus fixed Olive’s blue bow. It was crooked. “Something is bothering you. Tell me, Olive, don’t be shy with me. We girls have to stick together. What is it?”
“It’s nothing, Mrs. Claus. I’d better go now and see if they need me one last time at the toy factory.”
Olive trotted off.
“You’re my favorite reindeer you know. I’m always around if you need me,” Mrs. Claus called after her.
CHAPTER 7 - Too Late
At the toy factory Olive’s best friend, Boomer, the chubby harness elf, sat on a crate by the shipping dock. He munched on a peanut butter sandwich.
“Hi, Olive!” Boomer shouted. He liked to shout rather than talk.
“Hi, Boomer. Do they need any more help inside?”
“Not now. They’re just tying up some loose ends. We’re ready.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t needed here either.
“What’s eating you, Olive? Huh? You look really sad.”
“Well, it’s just that I’d love to go on the Big Trip,” Olive said.
“Hey, come on! You’ll make it one day.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Boomer.”
“You will. You’re fast. You always win the races on Candy Cane Pond. And you’re strong too.”
“I’m just a nobody. After all these years I’m still called the other reindeer.”
“Aw, come on! Mrs. Claus for one doesn’t call you that,” Boomer said. “Tell her what you want.”
“Mrs. Claus doesn’t do the hiring.”
“No, but I’m sure she’s got some clout with Santa.”
“I just talked to Mrs. Claus and I couldn’t tell her about about my dream. I just couldn’t.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Well I”
Boomer waved his sandwich in the air. “Sweet potaters, Olive! You can’t just wait for something to happen. And that’s what you’re doing.”
“I know, Boomer, I know.” She wouldn’t mention her visit with Santa Claus or Boomer would get really steamed. “But I just don’t like to be pushy.”
Boomer snorted. “Pushy? You really tick me off sometimes. You know that? The squeaky wheel gets the grease. Things won’t come to you. And ”
“And what, Boomer?”
Boomer stared at his sandwich. “The Big Trip is only eighty-nine minutes away. But I have to say you can forget it just like the other ones. It’s too late.”
Olive gulped. Maybe I should have said something to Mrs. Claus, she thought. I’ll be staying behind again.
CHAPTER 8 - The Numbers Aren’t Good
Meanwhile Santa Claus, Number One, and Chip, the computer ace, were going over a few things in the Planning Room at Mission Control.
They studied a wall map. Mittens, Santa’s orange cat, was on Santa’s shoulders. He seemed interested in the map too.
“Santa, the numbers aren’t good,” Chip said. “We have a record number of kids this year and we just don’t have enough reindeer power.”
Santa chuckled. “Chip, you worry too much. I have a great team, but we can always add one or two of the spare reindeer.”
Mrs. Claus passed by. She cupped her ear to listen.
“One or two won’t do it, Santa, even if we had them,” Number One said. “Dr. Winters called me just before you arrived. An odd thing. The spare reindeer are in the hospital sick.”
Santa gasped. “Oh, dear! All of them at once? That’s terrible!”
“And the sleigh is loaded to overflowing,” Chip said. “If we added any more toys we couldn’t lift off. Lots of toys have to be left behind.” He looked at his calculator. “The numbers aren’t good.”
“They certainly aren’t, Chip,” Santa said.
“Many places must be missed.” Chip pointed at the map with a baseball bat. “Here, here, and here. And there.”
Santa Claus sank into an armchair with his head in his hands. Mittens almost fell off his shoulders.
“But we can’t let down any children,” Santa moaned. “We can’t! You’re the computer expert, Chip. Think of something. Anything! We leave in fifty-six minutes. There must be something we can do.”
Chip threw up his hands. “There isn’t, Santa, and that’s a fact.”
After she heard this, Mrs. Claus hurried over to the hospital.
CHAPTER 9 - Blackmail
In the hospital ward the spare reindeer lay in beds. With thermometers in their mouths were Speedy, Jingles, Flash, Igloo, Spinner, Rascal, Bingo, and Pokey.
Dr. Winters took out the thermometers and read them.
“Hmmm,” he said. “I can’t see anything the matter with any of you.” He looked at his watch. “It’s Christmas Eve with forty-three minutes ’til take-off. What if Santa needs some of you? Then what?”
“Then that’ll be too bad,” Pokey stated. “We’re not going back to that gloomy old stable.”
“Not until somebody paints it,” said Flash.
“Hah! So that’s it,” Dr. Winters said. “Blackmail!”
“That’s a mean thing to say,” said Bingo. “But we’re not going back to that stable. So there!”
“Get up! Get up!” Dr. Winters yelled. “Where’s your pride? Where’s your courage? Where’s your loyalty? Get up! Immediately! This is nonsense! This is uh, please. With jam on it. Well?”
But the reindeer just snuggled in their beds and answered with snores.
They weren’t going anywhere.
CHAPTER 10 - Not A Very Nice Idea
Mrs. Claus rushed into the ward. She was alarmed by what she saw.
“What’s going on, Doctor?”
Dr. Winters shook his head. “I never thought I’d hear myself say this, Mrs. Claus. Never in a million years. But what we’ve got here is a bunch of fakers who want to sleep all day long in nice comfy beds. In short, they’re on strike!”
Mrs. Claus thought. “I think I’ve got an idea. It’s not a very nice one, but”
She whispered into Dr. Winters’ ear.
The reindeer squinted at them. What were they up to?
The doctor held up a needle. He gave it a squirt. The reindeer stirred.
“Now this might smart a little, you reindeer, but it’s for your own good,” Dr. Winters said.
The reindeer shot up in bed.
“Don’t be scared,” Dr. Winters said. “It’ll only take a second.”
“I feel a lot better, Dr. Winters,” Jingles said.
“M-m-me too,” Pokey stuttered.
“See you, Dr. Winters,” said Igloo, bolting for the door.
“Don’t call us, we’ll call you,” said the rest as they clomped after Igloo.
Mrs. Claus and Dr. Winters split their sides as the reindeer stampeded down the corridor.
CHAPTER 11 - Take-Off
Take-off was seconds away.
From the runway red, gold, green, and blue fireworks lit the North Pole sky with fantastic patterns.
Two elves at the front of the sleigh blew a trumpet fanfare.
Tah-tah tah tah-tah tah tah. Tah-tah.
Boomer sprinkled Santa’s reindeer from his bag of magic sparkles. The sparkles gave them the power to fly.
Chip and Number One looked on with frowns. Everyone was nervous except for the reindeer.
“I’m all set, chief,” said Dasher, and pawed at the ground.
“Me too,” said Dancer, and shook his bells.
“Let’s go, Santa,” said Comet.
From the front of Santa’s team came a red glow and a giggle.
The reindeer loved Christmas Eve. Santa didn’t have the heart to tell them thousands of children would be given a miss on this one.
He slumped in his sleigh. Even his beard seemed to droop.
Olive watched from a rise.
Although she wanted to forget about the Big Trip, she just couldn’t help coming to see the show. She especially loved the fireworks.
She heard the reindeer’s excited voices. Oh, how she wished she could be one of them.
But I’ll always get left behind, she thought.
Olive turned away.
She’d seen enough. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Suddenly there were cries of alarm. And ...
BANG!
CHAPTER 12 - What Boomer Did
The sleigh had crashed.
Santa Claus was tossed into a snowbank.
The reindeer sprawled on the runway.
Boxes of presents were scattered everywhere.
Olive galloped to the overturned sleigh. Boomer stood near it.
“Oh, no! This is awful!” Olive cried. “What happened, Boomer?”
Boomer grinned. “I overloaded the sleigh when nobody was looking. I put a set of barbells across the back of the runners.
“What! But why?”
“You want to go with them, don’t you?”
“Shh! Of course I want to go, but ”
“Well, if the team can’t get airborne then you’re in. You’re in!”
“But but”
“Oh-oh!” Boomer clasped his mouth. “Look who’s coming.”
CHAPTER 13 - No Time To Lose
Number One marched towards them. His face was red with anger.
“I heard all that, Boomer. Oh, Santa! Santa!” he called. “I think there is something you should know.”
Santa struggled to his feet and brushed snow off himself.
“What’s going on here?” Santa said.
“Tell Santa Claus the disgraceful thing you did, Boomer,” Number One ordered. “Go on.”
Boomer hung his head. “I overloaded the sleigh with some barbells. I’m sorry, Santa, I really am. But please forget what I did and give Olive a chance to go with you. That’s why I did it. Olive is as fast as greased lightning.”
Santa shook his head. The accident had confused him.
“Olive?” he said. “Olive?” Then it dawned. “Yes, Olive! I was just talking to you. So you want to help deliver the presents, do you, Olive?”
“Oh, yes, Santa. That’s really why I came to see you.”
Boomer gave Olive a surprised look. “Huh? You did?”
Santa stroked his beard. “So that was it! But why didn’t you say so? Oh, never mind. We’ve got no time to lose. Come along, Olive.”
But Olive didn’t move. “I’d love to, Santa, but I don’t think it would be fair to go after this. If not for Boomer, you’d all be in the sky by now.”
Boomer clenched his teeth. “Olive, you’re going to blow it.”
“Hmm, I see,” Santa said. “I see.”
For a while no one knew what to say.
Finally Number One spoke up. He’d cooled off.
“Santa, may I say something?” he said. “Although I do not approve of such a deed, I think Boomer is a good fellow. He has served us well for many years. Perhaps we can overlook what he did.”
Santa nodded. “I agree, Number One. We’ll give Boomer a second chance. So, Olive? Do you want to come? Yes or no?”
Olive could hardly believe it. Was her dream about to come true?
“Whoopee!” she shouted. “You’ll see I’m really fast and strong, Santa.”
Santa’s eyes twinkled. He patted Olive on the head.
“Don’t worry, Olive,” Santa said. “I’ve had my eyes on you and I know how fast and strong you are. You were going to be on the team sooner or later. So as of now, you’re officially hired.”
Chip joined them. He was studying his calculator and he didn’t look happy. “I hate to be a party pooper, Santa, but this won’t change much,” he said. “With the help of Olive we can make Los Angeles just before sun up. But many other places will still get left out.”
Santa sighed. “I know, I know, I hadn’t forgotten, Chip. How could I? All those children will be heart-broken. They’ll never forgive me. But but there’s nothing we can do.”
CHAPTER 14 - Mrs Claus’ Surprise
At that moment they heard a whistle in the distance. It came from Mrs. Claus.
She wore a red-and-white Santa outfit. And she was driving a team made up of the eight spare reindeer.
“Hee-hah! Giddy-up, my honeys!” Mrs. Claus urged.
The spare reindeer looked as fit as ever. They came at full steam. Snow swirled around their pounding hooves.
Santa’s mouth fell open as Mrs. Claus pulled up beside him.
“Mrs. Claus! Goodness! What a surprise!” Santa said. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, dear, I heard you had a problem,” Mrs. Claus said.
“We do, we do. A whopper. But I thought all the spare reindeer were in the hospital.”
Mrs. Claus smiled. “They were. Flat on their backs until Dr. Winters came up with a cure, you might say. And then I did a little wheeling and dealing about giving their stable a new paint job. You really should see it, Santa.”
“We can talk about that later, my dear. But right now I’d like to know why you’re here.”
“Well, I thought we could load up my sleigh and I’ll go with you. If you don’t mind.”
Santa clapped his hands. “Mind? Why should I mind? That’s a terrific idea! You really want to go, don’t you, my dear?”
“It would be a hoot. A real hoot.” “All these years and you’ve never once said anything.” “Well, wouldn’t a passenger have made the sleigh too heavy?” Mrs. Claus said. “So, dear? What do you say?”
CHAPTER 15 - The Big Trip
Santa turned to Boomer. “Quick, Boomer! Hitch up Olive to Mrs. Claus’s team. That will give us nine reindeer each.”
Boomer saluted. “Right away, Santa!”
Boomer hitched Olive in the lead.
A dozen elves gathered up the scattered toys. Another dozen brought the ones left over in the toy factory.
The sleighs were quickly loaded.
Boomer sprinkled Mrs. Claus’s reindeer with the magic sparkles.
For a moment the reindeer rose and floated on air. Mrs. Claus’s team was now ready to fly.
“Up and at em, Olive!” whooped Mrs. Claus. “Ho-ho! Ho-ho!”
Santa winked. “You’ve got the words, my dear, but, well, the tune needs some work.”
Then with a merry “Ho! Ho! Ho!” and a “Ho-ho! Ho-ho!” Santa and Mrs. Claus whooshed off into the twinkling stars and over the moon.
The elves jumped up and down and cheered the two sleighs in the sky. “Yippee! Yippee!”
A few toasted each other with mugs of hot chocolate.
As she led Mrs. Claus’s team, Olive held her head up high.
All the boys and girls got their presents on time and they were delighted.
So was Olive. And she did such a super job that from then on she made the Big Trip with Mrs. Claus every Christmas Eve.
THE END

“Olive, the Orphan Reindeer” is published by New Canaan Publishing and is available in hard cover for $9.95 + S&H from:

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Contact the author: mchris@direct.ca
A TRUE Christmas Story
reprinted with the blessings of Jay Frankston

There’s nothing so beautiful as a child’s dream of Santa Claus. I know, I often had that dream. But I was Jewish and we didn’t celebrate Christmas. It was everyone else’s holiday and I felt left out . . . like a big party I wasn’t invited to. It wasn’t the toys I missed, it was Santa Claus and a Christmas tree.

So when I got married and had kids I decided to make up for it. I started with a seven-foot tree, all decked out with lights and tinsel, and a Star of David on top to soothe those whose Jewish feelings were frayed by the display and, for them, it was a Hanukah bush. And it warmed my heart to see the glitter, because now the party was at my house and everyone was invited.

But something was missing, something big and round and jolly, with jingle bells and a ho! ho! ho! So I bought a bolt of bright red cloth and strips of white fur and my wife made me a costume. Inflatable pillows rounded out my skinny frame, but no amount of makeup could turn my face into merry old Santa.

I went around looking at department store impersonations sitting on their thrones with children on their laps and flash-bulbs going off, and I wasn’t satisfied with the way they looked either.

After much effort I located a mask maker and he had just the thing for me, a rubberized Santa mask, complete with whiskers and flowing white hair. It was not the real thing but it looked genuine enough to live up to a child’s dream of St. Nick.

When I tried it on something happened. I looked in the mirror and there he was, big as life, the Santa of my childhood. There he was . . . and it was me. I felt like Santa, like I became Santa. My posture changed. I leaned back and pushed out my false stomach. My head tilted to the side and my voice got deeper and richer and a “MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE.”

For two years I played Santa for my children to their mixed feelings of fright and delight and to my total enjoyment. And when the third year rolled around, the Santa in me had grown into a personality of his own and he needed more room than I had given him. So I sought to accommodate him by letting him do his thing for other children. I called up orphanages and children’s hospitals and offered his services free. But, “We don’t need Santa, we have all sorts of donations from foundations and . . . thank you for calling.” And the Santa in me felt lonely and useless.

Then, one late November afternoon, I went to the mailbox on the corner of the street to mail a letter and saw this pretty little girl trying to reach for the slot. She was maybe six years old. “Mommy, are you sure Santa will get my letter?” she asked. “Well, you addressed it to Santa Claus, North Pole, so he should get it,” the mother said and lifted her little girl so she could stuff the letter into the box. My mind began to whirl. All those thousands of children who wrote to Santa Claus at Christmas time, whatever became of their letters?

One phone call to the main post office answered my question. They told me that, as of the last week of November, an entire floor of the post office was needed to store those letters in huge sacks that came from different sections of the city.

The Santa in me went ho! ho! ho! and we headed down to the post office. And there they were, thousands upon thousands of letters, with or without stamps, addressed to Santi Claus, or St. Nick, or Kris Kringle, scribbled on wrapping paper or neatly written on pretty stationery. And I rummaged through them and laughed. Most of them were gimme, gimme, gimme letters, like “I want a pair of roller skates, and a Nintendo, and a GI Joe, and a personal computer, and a small portable TV, and whatever else you can think of.” Many of them had the price alongside each item . . . with or without sales tax.

Then there were the funny ones like: “Dear Santa, I’ve been a good boy all of last year, but if I don’t get what I want, I’ll be a bad boy all of next.”

And I became a little flustered at the demands and the greed of so many spoiled children. But the Santa in me heard a voice from inside the mail sack and I continued going through the letters, one after the other, until I came upon one which jarred and unsettled me.

It was neatly written on plain white paper and it said: “Dear Santa, I hope you get my letter. I am eleven years old and I have two little brothers and a baby sister. My father died last year and my mother is sick. I know there are many who are poorer than we are and I want nothing for myself, but could you send us a blanket, cause mommy’s cold at night.” It was signed Suzy.And a chill went up my spine and the Santa in me cried, “I hear you Suzy, I hear you.” And I dug deeper into those sacks and came up with another eight such letters, all of them calling out from the depth of poverty. I took them with me and went straight to the nearest Western Union office and sent each child a telegram: “GOT YOUR LETTER. WILL BE AT YOUR HOUSE ON CHRISTMAS DAY. WAIT FOR ME. SANTA.” I knew I could not possibly fill the need of all those children and it wasn’t my purpose to do so. But if I could bring them hope. If I could make them feel that their cries did not go unheard and that someone out there was listening . . . So I budgeted a sum of money and went out and bought toys. I wasn’t content with the five-and-ten cent variety. I wanted something substantial, something these children could only dream of, like an electric train, or a microscope, or a huge doll of the kind they saw advertised on TV.

And on Christmas Day I took out my sleigh and let Santa do his thing. Well, it wasn’t exactly a sleigh, it was a car and my wife drove me around because with all those pillows and toys I barely managed to get in the back seat. It had graciously snowed the night before and the streets were thick with fresh powder. My first call took me to the outskirts of the city. The letter had been from a Peter Barsky and all it said was: ”Dear Santa, I am ten years old and I am an only child. We’ve just moved to this house a few months ago and I have no friends yet. I’m not sad because I’m poor but because I’m lonely. I know you have many things to do and people to see and you probably have no time for me. So I don’t ask you to come to my house or bring anything. But could you send me a letter so I know you exist.” My telegram read: “DEAR PETER, NOT ONLY DO I EXIST BUT I’LL BE THERE ON CHRISTMAS DAY. WAIT FOR ME. SANTA.”

We spotted the house and drove past it and parked around the corner. Then Santa got out with his big bag of toys slung over his shoulder and tramped through the snow.

The house was wedged in between two tall buildings. The roof was of corrugated metal and it was more of a shack than a house. I walked through the gate, up the front steps and rang the bell. A man opened the door. He was in his undershirt and his stomach bulged out of his pants. “Boje moy ” he exclaimed in astonishment. That’s Polish, by the way, and his hand went to his face. “P-p-please . . .” he stuttered, “p-please . . . de boy . . . de boy . . . at mass . . . church. I go get him. Please, please wait.” And he threw a coat over his bare shoulders and, assured that I would wait, he ran down the street in the snow.

So I stood in front of the house feeling good, and on the opposite side of the street was this other shack, and through the window I could see these shiny little black faces peering at me and waving. Then the door opened shyly and some voices called out to me “Hya Santa” . . . “Hya Santa”.

And I ho! ho! hoed my way over there and this woman asked if I would come in and I did. And there were these five young kids from one to seven years old. And I sat and spoke to them of Santa and the spirit of love which is the spirit of Christmas.

Then, since they were not on my list, but assuming from the torn Christmas wrappings that they had gotten their presents, I asked if they liked what Santa had brought them during the night. And each in turn thanked me for . . . the woolen socks, and the sweater, and the warm new underwear.

And I looked at them and asked: “Didn’t I bring you kids any toys?” And they shook their heads sadly. “Ho! ho! ho! I slipped up,” I said “We’ll have to fix that.” I told them to wait, I’d be back in a few minutes, then trudged heavily through the snow to the corner. And when I was out of their sight, I ran as fast as I could to the car. We had extra toys in the trunk and my wife quickly filled up the bag, and I trodded back to the house and gave each child a brand new toy. There was joy and laughter and the woman asked if she could take a picture of Santa with the kids and I said, sure, why not?

And when Santa got ready to leave, I noticed that this five-year-old little girl was crying. She was as cute as a button. I bent down and asked her “What’s the matter, child?” And she sobbed, “Oh! Santa, I’m so happy.” And the tears rolled from my eyes under the rubber mask.

As I stepped out on the street, “Pan, pan, proche . . . please come . . . come,” I heard this man Barsky across the way. And Santa crossed and walked into the house. The boy Peter just stood there and looked at me. “You came,” he said. “I wrote and . . . you came”. He turned to his parents. “I wrote . . . and he came.” And he repeated it over and over again. “I wrote . . . and he came.” And when he recovered, I spoke with him about loneliness and friendship, and gave him a chemistry set, which seemed to be what he would go for, and a basketball. And he thanked me profusely. And his mother, a heavy-set Slavic-looking woman, asked something of her husband in Polish. My parents were Polish so I speak a little and understand a lot. “From the North Pole,” I said in Polish. She looked at me in astonishment. “You speak Polish?” she asked. “Of course,” I said. “Santa speaks all languages.” And I left them in joy and wonder.

And I did this for twelve years, going through the letters to Santa at the post office, listening for the cries of children muffled in unopened envelopes.

In time I learned all that Santa has to know to handle any situation. Like the big kid who would stop Santa on the street and ask: “Hey, Santa, where’s your sleigh?” And I’d say, “How old are you son?” And he’d say, “Thirteen.” And I’d say, “Well, you’re a big fellow and you ought to know better. Santa used to come in a sleigh many years ago, but these are modern times. I come in a car now.” And I’d hop in the back seat and my wife would drive off.

Or the kid who would look at me closely and come out with, “That’s a mask,” pointing a finger. And you never lie to children so I’d say, “Sure, son, of course. If everybody knew what Santa really looks like they’d bother me all year long and I couldn’t get my things ready for Christmas.”

Or the mother who would whisper so her young son couldn’t hear, “Where do you come from?” I’d turn to the child and say, “Your mom wants to know where I come from Willy.” And he’d say, “From the North Pole, Mommy,” with absolute certainty. And she’d nudge me and whisper, “You don’t understand. Who sent you? I mean, how do you come to this house?” I’d turn to the boy and say, “Hey, Willy, your mom wants to know why I came to see you.” And he’d say, “Cause I wrote him a letter, Mommy.” And I’d pull out the letter and she knows she mailed it, and she’s confused and bewildered and I’d leave her like that.

As time went on, the word got out about Santa Claus and me, and I insisted on anonymity, but toy manufacturers would send me huge cartons of toys as a contribution to the Christmas spirit. So I started with 18 or 20 children and wound up with 120, door to door, from one end of the city to the other, from Christmas Eve through Christmas Day.

And on my last call, a number of years ago, I knew there were four children in the family and I came prepared. The house was small and sparsely furnished. The kids had been waiting all day, staring at the telegram and repeating to their skeptical mother, “He’ll come, Mommy, he’ll come.” And as I rang the door bell the house lit up with joy and laughter and “He’s here . . . he’s here!” And the door swings open and they all reach for my hands and hold on. “Hya, Santa . . . Hya, Santa. We just knew you’d come.”

And these poor kids are all beaming with happiness. And I take each one of them on my lap and speak to them of rainbows and snowflakes, and tell them stories of hope and waiting, and give them each a toy.

And all the while there’s this fifth child standing in the corner, a cute little girl with blond hair and blue eyes. And when I’m through with the others, I turn to her and say: “You’re not part of this family are you?” And she shakes her head sadly and whispers, “No.” “Come closer, child,” I say, and she comes a little closer. “What’s your name?” I ask. “Lisa.” “How old are you?” “Seven.” “Come, sit on my lap,” and she hesitates but she comes over and I lift her up and sit her on my lap. “Did you get any toys for Christmas?” I ask. “No,” she says with puckered lips. So I take out this big beautiful doll and, “Here, do you want this doll?” “No,” she says. And she leans over to me and whispers in my ear, “I’m Jewish.” And I nudge her and whisper in her ear, “I’m Jewish too. Do you want this doll?” And she’s grinning from ear to ear and nods with wanting and desire, and takes the doll and hugs it and runs out.

It’s been a long time since I last put on my Santa suit. But I feel that Santa has lived with me and given me a great deal of happiness all those years. And now, when Christmas rolls around, he comes out of hiding long enough to say, “Ho! ho! ho! A Merry Christmas to you, my friend.”

And I say to you now, MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIENDS.

“A Christmas Story” is published by the author and is available in hard cover for $9.95 + S&H from:

WHOLE LOAF PUBLICATIONS
41201 Airport Road, Little River, CA. 95456
(707) 937-0208

Contact the author: wlp@mcn.org
See the author’s other stories: http://www.mcn.org/a/wlp/christmas/

to your magical journey!