"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.
