Somewhere in Georgia. The gas station pump had a TV in it. All gas station pumps have TVs now.
If you buy gas in America, you have to watch loud commercials, selling everything from smartphone apps to foot powder. And in true TV-commercial fashion, the ads are roughly the same volume as a nuclear weapons field test.
So there I was, pumping gas, trying to ignore the ad for hemorrhoid cream, when I noticed a car pull beside me. It was an old-model Nissan. Lots of rust. Dings everywhere. The car made more noise than a tambourine salesman riding on railroad tracks.
A guy stepped out. He was big and portly. He wore a thick white beard. The tips of his mustache were waxed. He wore red, from his head to his foot. His eyes, how they twinkled. His dimples how merry. His radio was playing “Hotel California” by the Eagles.
He stood beside me, pumping gas, checking his phone, and he saw me looking at him.
“Hi,” he said.
I could not find the words. “Are you…?”
He nodded.
“You mean the real…?” I said.
Nod.
He was on his way to Atlanta for a gig. He would be visiting a group foster home. I asked what it would be like, visiting all those kids.
He shrugged. “They’ll sit on my lap. They’ll tell me what they want. They’ll ask if they can pull my beard. I’ll give them a candy cane.”
“Is it real?”
“I don’t use fake candy canes.”
“I meant your beard.”
“One hundred percent Santa.”
I asked what sorts of things kids in orphangaes request for Christmas. He said it’s been the same wishlist every year. Only the names of the children change.
“Last year,” he said, “a little boy asked if I could ask God to let his mother into heaven after her overdose.
“I had a girl cry on my shoulder and beg me to adopt her because she said nobody wanted her.
“One time, a little girl gave me her list and all it said on it was, ‘food.’ The police found her starving before she went into foster care.”
I asked how the Big Guy got into this particular business.
“I had a career when I was younger, I was in insurance.”
Santa, selling insurance policies. Ho, ho, deductible.
“...One day a guy at work asked if I’d be Santa at his kid’s school party. I rented a costume. I grew my beard out. It changed me. It was the most rewarding experience of my life. After that, there was no going back.”
Several years ago, he retired early. Although he’s quick to point out that insurance agents never retire. They expire.
He doesn’t make much money, but he travels all over, doing his thing. He’s been doing it 29 years, and there is no conceivable end in sight. “I’ll do it until Mrs. Claus has to start changing my diapers.”
When he finished pumping gas, he screwed on the filler cap and crawled into his rusted Altima. He looked at me through the rolled-down window.
I asked a question. “Is there anything specific YOU want for Christmas, Santa?”
“Yessir,” he said. “Same thing I want every year. I want kids to know Santa loves them. But I want them to know Santa’s boss loves them even more.”
I know you & your readers may not believe this little story but it is absolutely true-
I have written a comment recently about my husband & I being shelter parents for children who were abused, neglected, &/or abandoned. Prior to his passing in 2005 he was also a pastor of a very small country church & worked as the press operator at our local newspaper. He even sold insurance for a while.
I say all this because what he loved most were the 20+ years he was Santa Claus for hundreds or maybe even thousands of children who made the annual trip to see him at our local mall. He would also walk around the mall & talk with everyone because even grownups have a “wishlist”.
My Santa’s heart was touched the most when he spent time with children at the local foster care Christmas gatherings. He always made sure each child got as much time as they wanted to talk to Santa about their lives. Often time these parties would go past their scheduled ending time because listening is what he did best no matter how long it took. 100% of these kids’ wishlists were intangible items & always for others, not for themselves.
So, let us all be Santas this year. Let us learn to listen to the hearts & needs of others.
We CAN all make a difference in someone’s life if we just take the time to listen closely no matter how long it takes.
Just believe!
Your last several columns, Sean, have been good reminders about the most meaningful reason for season—giving, and considering others before ourselves.