(Let me preface this by saying that this is a purely hypothetical piece. I have not, do not, and will not EVER pretend to be Santa Claus. The fact that he and I have not been seen in the same room for about 7 years is merely a coincidence. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Mmkay? Thanks.)
Of all the legendary figures whose tales have graced the history of this rock we call earth, it is my deeply-held belief that the most loved, most longed for, and most enjoyed is Santa Claus.
I proved that myself just yesterday. I'm a 40-year old man, but for a few moments, I'd became a kid again.
I was home, enjoying an afternoon of football on TV, when I started hearing sirens. They seemed to be passing on the highway near my house, one after another, after yet another.
I feared the worst. I live a couple of miles from a facility that -- among other things -- tests rockets. I've felt the house shake when they've had a malfunction. And when I was a kid, I remember hearing about a major explosion out there, and knew kids who didn't know if their fathers were OK until we got home from school.
Considering I was hearing sirens for every bit of an hour-and-a-half, I figured there had certainly been a major incident, and that every fire unit within a 100-mile radius was responding.
To my great joy, I was wrong. And not only was I wrong, but the lone fire engine that had been the noise culprit, began heading toward my house.
Now ordinarily, it's not a good thing to see a fire truck headed toward your home. But when I looked out the window and saw Santa standing on top of the engine and waving, you can absolutely rest assured that I ran out the front door and waved to Mr. Claus and the firefighters whose job it was to chauffeur him for the day.
Santa Claus does that. He turns the young, the old, and everyone in between into giddy little kids. Why? Well, if you want the truth, because our parents, and their parents, and their parents before them lied. lol
Stop me if an adult told you something very close to this story when you were a kid:
"See, on Christmas Eve, this big guy with a white beard and a red suit flies around the world in a sleigh, pulled by magical flying reindeer, delivering toys to all the good girls and boys. Rudolph is the team leader, and his nose glows red to help Santa find his way in the dark."
Sound familiar? Of course it does.
As kids, we all had the awe-inspiring experience of going to bed on Christmas Eve, struggling as hard as we could to fall asleep, and waking up to the sure and certain evidence that Santa had indeed visited our home.
His name was right there on the tags. He ate the cookies. He drank the milk. He took the carrot for Rudolph. He had certainly been there, right? It's not like my parents would ever LIE to me! They HATE lying! That was the only time I ever got spanked as a kid, was when I lied about something! Surely they're not going to spank me and then lie about Christmas! Right? RIGHT?!?!
To this day, I can't prove that Santa Claus didn't visit my house. Sure, I have my own kids now. I've eaten Santa's cookies. I've drunk Santa's milk. And...well, let's be honest...I threw Rudolph's carrot away.
But there will always be a part of me that hangs on to my belief. There will always be something deep in my heart that knows there IS a Santa Claus; that the spirit of Saint Nick is as real as those of you reading these words.
I still get presents from him. Every year, there's at least one gift (nevermind that it's in my mom's handwriting) that says "To Jason, From Santa." And every year I get excited, grinning like I did 35 years ago, as I open the gift from the guy with the magical flying reindeer.
There's something else I get excited to do every year too. I get to pull out my own red suit. I get to put on the fluffy white wig and beard. I pull on the white gloves and the black boots, and for just a little while become my own version of Kris Kringle.
This is the first time I've ever admitted to doing so. When my co-workers ask, "What day are you going to dress up as Santa Claus?" I feign confusion and ask, "Do what?" They play along, and say, "Call Santa and find out what day he's coming in."
There's a very important unwritten rule I have for myself when it comes to playing Santa. DO...NOT...BREAK...CHARACTER.
I was very hesitant to write this for that reason. But I figured that if I posted a disclaimer, it would allow me the leeway to speculate on what someone who dresses up as Santa Claus must experience.
And let me tell you, it's a magical feeling. Magic in a hat? Frosty, my friend, you have nothing on putting on that red hat with the little white ball on the end.
Kids of all ages love it -- from my boss who is...let's just say "older than me," to toddlers, to those in their 80s and beyond.
The joy of seeing faces of every age light up is indescribable. I get to see the reactions of folks who, like me, have spent their entire lives wanting to believe. I get to play a character that everyone loves, wants to see, wants to talk to, wants a picture with...just wants to experience.
Santa, for me, has come a long way since I first ordered the costume.
I was home alone, recently divorced, feeling like the only soul on the planet...only a little more alone than that even. I was feeling particularly down that night, as I'd come to the realization that I'd never again be able to play Santa on Christmas morning. (The milk- and cookie-eating version.)
Then it was like someone walked into the room, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked, "Why can't you?" The light switch within me flipped. "Indeed. Why can't I?"
At that very instant, I started shopping online for the nicest looking suit I could afford. I requested overnight shipping, and less than 48 hours later, "Santa" arrived.
Santa has appeared at my mother's house on Christmas Eve every year since. And while I've never had the pleasure of being there when my girls get to see him, I know he's there. I know that Leah is still looking at him for more "proof" that it's really Daddy, even though she knows it is. I know that Lacy is quietly playing along, not wanting to spoil anything for her sister, even though she knows that she knows.
I know that Mom and Dad are watching and holding on to their own childhood through "Santa" and their grandkids. I know that this is one very important place in my life where I saw a challenge and fixed it. And I know that long after I am gone from this earth, my version of Santa is something that my girls will hold onto, and hopefully tell their own kids about.
I love playing Santa Claus. It's one of those things in my life that gives me a great sense of enjoyment and self-worth. It allows me to give back to those around me, no matter how much money I do or do not have at the time. And it allows me to be a part of something much greater than myself. It allows me, for those couple hours a year, to let kids young and old escape their daily reality and just wonder. "Is he real?"
