Putting on the red suit

(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?"

The little girl that Santa met

"That was wonderful, David," Miss Kline said with a polite smile as the next-to-last student finished reading his "Who I would most like to meet" paper to the class.

"And finally, let's hear Kayla Morris read her paper. Kayla?"

Kayla stood, adjusted her red and green dress nervously, and walked to the front of the room. Miss Kline touched her shoulder reassuringly, knowing Kayla would be nervous about this sort of thing, then stepped aside to listen.

Kayla took a deep breath, sighed heavily, then raised her paper and began to read.

"The person I would most like to meet is..." she glanced at Miss Kline, looking for assurance. The young teacher nodded and smiled.

"The person I would most like to meet...is Santa Claus."

Some of the students laughed. Some of the boys, gave an exaggerated eye roll. One girl called from the back of the room, "Miss Kline! Santa Claus isn't even real!"

The teacher raised her index finger, and gently admonished her pupils.

"Let's show Kayla the respect she showed all of you. Please be quiet and listen. Continue, Kayla," she said, while keeping her eyes on the rest of the class.

Kayla cleared her little throat and picked up where she had left off.

"Some people say that Santa Claus isn't real." The girl in the back slouched in her seat a little. "But I believe that he is. Maybe not as a person you can see or touch. But he's real. He brings happiness to everyone this time of year. Everyone is nicer. Everyone is happier. If I could meet the real Santa Claus, I would ask him to stay all year, so the world could always be like that. The end."

Miss Kline smiled big and wrapped her arm around Kayla's shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"Beautiful."

That night at the dinner table, Kayla was quiet. That wasn't terribly unusual as she was a shy, contemplative child. Even at home. Her father tried to draw her out of her shell a little bit.

"How was school today, honey?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Did you do anything special?"

"No. I just had to read my paper to the class."

"What was your paper about?"

"Who I'd like to meet."

"And who is that?"

Kayla's mother looked at her father with a stare he knew well. He lifted his head a little, acknowledging her.

"I said I'd like to meet Santa Claus," Kayla said meekly, looking down at her plate as she picked at her food.

"Santa Claus, huh?"

"Yes, Daddy. Santa Claus."

Her dad sat back in his chair a little. "And why is that?"

"Because he makes people happy," Kayla said, becoming just a little boisterous for one of the few times in her young life.

"He doesn't let people be sad. He doesn't let people tease and act like jerks."

Mike Morris raised his eyebrows a little, listening closely as his daughter began to open up.

"And he DEFINITELY wouldn't let you and mom yell."

Mike swallowed hard and shot a quick glance to his wife Leslie. She knew his looks as well, and this one meant "It's your turn. You handle this."

Leslie pursed her lips a little, tapping the tips of her fingers together in front of her as she tried to think quickly.

"Honey, I think you picked a good topic for your paper. I really do. And I think the idea of Santa Claus is a good one for everyone to hold on to.

"But, Kayla, sweetie...There are just some things that even Santa Claus can't do."

Mike and Leslie had discussed divorce. They'd discussed how it would affect Kayla. They'd even discussed how they might divide up their belongings. But they hadn't come to any final decision. Mike braced himself, expecting that he and Kayla were about to have their hopes and dreams shattered at the same time; for different reasons.

"When your dad and I got married, we waited for someone we'd never seen before too. This person was going to take the couple that we were and turn us into a family. Think about that honey. This person was going to be 100% responsible for creating a family. This person was going to make all of our dreams come true, and make us happy forever. Do you know who that person was?"

"No. You already said it wasn't Santa."

Mike spoke up.

"Sweetheart, it was you. You made us a family. You did something that even Santa Claus couldn't."

"Well, I still want to meet him," Kayla said softly, not fully understanding the grandeur of the truth that was just revealed to her. "The real one. Not the guy at the mall."

Over the next few weeks, Kayla's parents tried everything; from having her call 800 numbers with messages from "Santa," to showing her internet videos that showed a man dressed as Santa addressing her by name. She remained unimpressed.

She wrote to Santa, and received a return letter -- in her father's handwriting. She even spoke to the guy at the mall, who clearly knew nothing about her. He couldn't have been real either.

On Christmas Eve, Kayla's parents volunteered at the church soup kitchen as they had every year before. This time they took Kayla.

She tried to help. She put ice in plastic cups. She handed out plastic spoons. And once everyone that had come in for the "early rush" was served, she walked to a table near the back of the social hall and sat down, a little fist on each side of her head, looking forlorn as could be.

The outside door opened, and she looked up to see a skinny man in a tattered green coat and ripped jeans walk through the door. He wore a bandana on his head, and had a long white beard. His grizzled face told the story of a long, hard life; in Vietnam and then on the streets of Anytown, USA.

"He's got the beard," she muttered to herself, convinced she'd never meet the real Saint Nick.

The man got his bowl of food, and then began to walk straight toward Kayla.

"Is this seat taken, miss?" he asked kindly, smiling at her with the teeth he had left.

"No sir," Kayla answered softly.

The man sat down.

After a few moments of silence, Kayla spoke up.

"What's your name, sir?"

The old man smiled and shook his head a little.

"Sweetheart, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I might."

"Well, I guess I oughta tell you the whole story then," the man said, gently resting his plastic spoon on the side of his bowl.

"My parents loved Christmas time. I mean really loved it. And so they named all of us kids after stuff that involves Christmas somehow. I have three sisters who they named Noel, Eve, and Holly. I have two brothers who they named...get this...Rudolph and Ebeneezer."

Kayla laughed a little bit at the thought of actual people being named after a reindeer and Mr. Scrooge.

"And then there's me."

"What did they name you?"

"Santa Claus."

"No they didn't," Kayla said, shaking her head, hoping with all her might that it was true.

The man reached into a pocket in his old jacket and pulled out a well-worn billfold. He opened it, and pulled out a half-century old military ID card. He placed his thumb over his last name, then showed it to Kayla.

She could barely make out the letters that were nearly worn off, but on inspecting the card closely, her heart skipped a beat. There she was, surely enough, talking to Santa Claus.

"Santa," she said, sliding back into her seat, wiping away a tiny tear of joy. "I knew you were real. I KNEW you were."

"Yep. Real as you are," Santa said, taking a few quick sips of his soup.

"Where are your reindeer? What do you feed them? How do they fly so fast? Wh..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there," Santa said with a grin. "Christmas isn't about me. It's about people like you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when people are hungry, what do you do?"

"Feed them."

"When people are sad, what do you do?"

"Cheer them up."

"When people don't believe in something because they can't see it, what do you do?"

"I wish they would have faith."

Santa stood, pushed his chair in and began to walk away. He paused for just a moment before leaving, and turned back to Kayla.

"That's why Kayla matters more than Santa ever will."

"Wait! How did you know my name?"

"I had faith that those folks over there told me the truth."

Kayla looked over behind the counter just in time to see her parents embrace, and give each other a soft kiss.

"Merry Christmas, Kayla," Santa said, and then he was gone.

The Big Duck

Preface: I wanted to write today, but was having a great deal of difficulty coming up with a topic. So I posted a facebook status, asking my friends to suggest topics for a short story. I told them that I would then select one, and write it; giving proper credit for the idea.

Turns out a very good friend of mine, Mr. John Donaldson, suggested "HOF Induction of ____ 2030." It was brilliant in its simplicity. It would allow me to explore a character type I'd never really considered before.

John left me a lot of options. He didn't suggest that I write about a specific person, or even a real person. Though I suspect he likely had Redskins' QB Robert Griffin III in mind. He's at least as big a Skins fan as I am.

I hope he won't mind me going in an entirely different direction. I will be examining a character of a completely different race, different education level, different upbringing, and different life than my white middle-class existence. I will tell it from a first-person perspective. I will be harsh. I will be realistic. And I will try to make you believe that this character is telling the story. PLEASE understand that I intend no disrespect to anyone, of any background, in so doing. I want this to be raw and real; and to push my own boundaries.

That said, thank you, John. We're both fans of Griffin's, and I hope you'll become a fan of "The Big Duck."

I'ma go ahead and introduce myself, even though if you watched NFL in this last 15 years, you already know who I am. My name is Reginald Washington. Though you might know me better as "The Big Duck."

I got that name after my fourth year in Buffalo, my seventh in the league. I done had so many knee surgeries I couldn't bend my legs no more. 'Til I got on the football field that is. Out there, I don't know if it was the shots, the adrenaline, what it was...out there, I could've squatted a half ton. Felt like I did sometimes too. Them offensive linemen heavy. I ain't lyin'.

I ain't wanna leave New York. Growin' up in the Bronx, you ain't never really leave New York. But Buffalo? That wasn't New York no how. So I went with 'em when they went to LA. Played three years there. That town...man. I don't even. Too much other stuff to do I guess. Most of the people came to our games was there to be seen. Them people in Buffalo? They came to SEE the game.

Ten years. Ten damn years I spent bangin' my head up against somebody else. Everything broke. My knees. My elbows. Even broke my head a few times. The old guys used to say they got they bell rung. Now the league make you come out. It's good I guess. Least I can speak for myself today.

Oh...guess I ain't tell you yet. I'm gettin' in the Hall of Fame today. Yup. Sweet Mrs. Chandra Washington's baby boy, a Hall of Famer. I guess daddy here too. Lookin' down and whatnot.

My boy, Reggie Jr. gonna present me for enshrinement. "Enshrinement." They make it sound like they buildin' me a Taj Mahal or somethin'. Nah. Ain't all that. But they made my head outta copper or some shit. Guess that shit oughta last a while.

It's almost time. I'm next. I go right after Aaron Rodgers. I done GOT after his ass a few times too. Good player, that kid. I still ain't like him though. He a quarterback.

Good speech, 12. Least I guess it was. Lot of stuff in my head right now. There go Junior to the podium. Do me proud, boy. Do me proud.

Scuse me a minute, gotta listen to my boy.

"Mr. Commissioner, Hall of Famers, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen,"

Listen at him. You well-spoken as fuck, college boy.

"I come before you today, to present for enshrinement, one of the greatest defensive tackles ever to play this game."

Go on, kid. Go on.

"In his 10 years in the National Football League, this man recorded 147 sacks and over 750 tackles -- all from the defensive tackle position. He was a 6-time All Pro, 8-time Pro Bowler, 2-time NFL Defensive Player of the Year, and a Super Bowl champion."

I ain't count that shit. Fuck Baltimore.

"But even more than his accomplishments on the field, I am most proud of him for one thing. He was the best damn dad I ever had."

I told that boy. I TOLD him not to use no swear words. Fuck. Embarrassin' my momma right now.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I present for induction to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, Class of 2030, my daddy, 'The Big Duck' Reginald Washington."

He did not just call me 'daddy.' Damn. I'm already snifflin'.

Help dad up, Reggie, but don't make it look like you is. There we go. Ah, damn, son, I ain't ever wanna let this hug go. I love you, lil man. I love you. Good job.

Alright. Lemme get my notes up here real quick. I ain't write it all down. Just some stuff to keep me on track. Kinda like what Coach Manning did my last couple years. He know I ain't need no film study from no quarterback. Just say hey, go do your thing, Duckie.

Gotta raise this mic up a little bit...

Damn. That noise loud through the speakers. *ahem* Aight. Here I go then.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. And first of all, lemme thank my boy, Reggie Jr. for that awesome introduction. Son, you done good. I 'preciate ya. One of these days, you gon' be here. And they gon' be inducking...*scuse me* in-duc-ting The Duckling into Coopers...into Canton, Ohio.

(Damn, I ain't think I'd be this nervous.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank very much all of y'all for puttin' me in here. I mean, I think about the great ones, man. LT Taylor, man. "Mean Joe" Green. Man, I don't even know...Richard Singletary, Mike Dent, man. All them guys.

And just so all y'all know, I ain't even gonna mention none of you offensive guys. Ya'll get y'all ass talked about enough.

But seriously. There's a couple things I gotta say tonight. And a couple people I gotta thank. Without some of y'all folks, they not only be no Duck, they be no damn EGG even.

To my moms, and I see you right there. Right in the front row. I love you, momma. You takin' my ass to all them practices. Washin' my uniforms, cookin' me dinner when I was eatin' as much as all three other kids by my-damn-self. I love you. Great job.

(That felt a little like it ain't go right. If I clap for her, hopefully everybody else ass will too. Damn. That shit loud on the speakers too.)

To my coaches...to my teammates, man. Y'all helped me immensely. I can't name all y'all, cause we'd be here till next year enshine...*ahem* enshine...damn...enshrinement. But thank all y'all very much. Ya'll awesome to play with, for real.

(Man, I gotta take a break for a minute, drink some of this water under here. This next part gonna be hard.)

*ahem* Oh boy. (Damn, they gonna know why they really call me The Duck here in a minute. My eyes gettin' watery as hell.)

They one person, that I gotta thank to the utmost. *ahem* And um...unfortunately, he couldn't be with us tonight as a physical person.

*ahem ahem* (More water. Damn, son, calm yourself down.)

I gotta thank my daddy.

They clappin so hard now, damn. Gotta wipe the sweat off my eyes. Least make it look like that what I'm doin'.

Ladies and gentlemen...*ahem*...my daddy was my first football coach. He was my first coach at life too. And he was good at it. Real good.

He used to tell me, "Reggie, keep yo head down when you do school work. Keep yo head up when you playin' football."

I ain't know what he meant then. But I do now. Daddy knew when you do work, you keep your head down. You pay attention hard as you can. Kids called it "the grind" back in my day. You gotta grind hard if you want anything in life.

Daddy in football was a little more talkin' bout what he actually meant. You don't keep yo head up, you gon' got knocked on yo ass!

(They laughin', but that shit serious.)

Only thing was, I ain't realize what Daddy meant about the whole head up and down thing till he was gone.

What he meant for real was, keep yo head on the things that's important to you. And believe me. Once yo daddy gone, you realize quick, fast, and in a hurry, what you should be watchin' at...*ahem*...lookin' at.

(They clappin hard again. All for you, Daddy.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I'ma ask you tonight, what should you have your head on? That's my question for y'all right now. What y'all don't give enough time to? Who you ain't called in like six months? What friend you ain't sat down and had a beer with?

NFL Football was my life for 10 years. If I did it now, my life would have included football. I lost 10 years, thinkin' I was bad shit. Guess I was, or I might wouldn't had this jacket on right now.

(They laughin' ass. I was.)

But I let a lot of shit go for 10 years too. Friends. Family members. All of it. And when I let go of my daddy...I ain't had no choice.

Don't be me. Yeah, play football if you want to. That's great. It is. I had a nice life. But like my Daddy said, keep y'all's head up.

(This hard, lookin' up to the sky right now.)

Daddy. Right now, you baby boy head up. Lookin' at you. Sayin' thank you. I love you. And God bless you. I see you one day. I know that's right.

*ahem*

Thank you.