Jonathots Daily Blog
(2089)
At twenty-two years of age, I was an unsettling blend of fun-loving, lazy, irresponsible and unfortunately, just talented enough to have reason to pursue a dream that was trying desperately to elude me. What happens in this type of situation is that normally you do quite well–until you run out of money.
Finance is not the most important thing in life, but it does buy you time to think about the important things.
So at Christmas time, I decided I needed to go out and make some candy-cane funding for my little family, and opted to pursue being Santa Claus. I was built for the position. Matter of fact, when I applied at the department store, they were delighted because the costume fit me perfectly and they didn’t have to add padding.
Honestly, I was pretty good at it, being Santa Claus. It involved acting, joking, caring … and could all be done from a seated position. The best of all my worlds.
Still, because cash flow was tight, I wasn’t able to afford money for lunch, so I lived on candy canes from my bag, which I gave to the children. I carefully tried to insert them into my mouth past the synthetic beard provided for me to accentuate the part. As you probably have already visualized, candy canes are sticky, and I was often unable to push the candy cane past the beard without including some hair in the process. It was yucky, but it was sweet.
Every three hours I was given a break, and would go down a freight elevator to enjoy some water and free time. One day, much to my surprise, a young boy about six years old followed me to the back of the store to the freight elevator, and surprised me when he piped up, “Where’s ya’ goin’?”
I was shocked. But wanting to maintain integrity, I continued my role.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Santa’s going to go feed his reindeer!” I said with abundant joviality.
“Where’s are dey?”
“Just down this elevator in the basement, waiting for me to bring them food.”
“Is dis the magic food that makes dem fly?” he inquired.
“Yes. I mean, no. Not yet. After all, don’t want ’em to fly until Christmas Eve.” I produced another ‘ho-ho-ho.’
“Which reindeer do you like best?” he continued.
(We were in the midst of a conversation which was quickly becoming an interview. I not only was losing my quiet time, but realized that in a few short moments, I would be beyond my expertise.)
“I like them all the same,” I shared with equity.
“I like Blitzen,” he said with assurety.
“Why is that, young man?”
“Such a cool name. And also, I think he helps Donner pull the sleigh, because sometimes Donner’s a little weak because he’s getting older. Just like my Grandma.”
Wow. This was getting way too deep for a department store Santa Claus.
“Well, I gotta go now,” I said, trying to inch my way to the elevator.
“Can I go with you?”
I should have known this was coming and prepared myself with a good answer. But I was twenty-two years old and punching a clock, even if it was for the North Pole.
“No, you can’t.” That’s all I came up with.
“Why?” he asked.
Once again, a predictable question. I decided to be honest.
“It’s because Santa Claus is tired right now and needs to put his boots up so he’ll be ready to talk to other boys and girls and find out what they want for Christmas.”
Much to my surprise, he accepted this and nodded his head.
“Can I ask you one more question?” he said softly.
“Sure.” He was so adorable I couldn’t turn him down.
“Are you the real Santa Claus?”
He looked up at me with a glance that any Hollywood producer would require off of a child actor, but unfortunately never get, no matter how many takes are procured. What should I say to him?
I thought about the standard fare:
- No, I’m not really Santa Claus. I’m just one of his helpers.
- I’m just filling in for him today because he’s busy making toys.
But momentarily inspired, I replied, “What do you think?’
He crinkled his nose, squinted at me, and said, “I think you are.”
“Then you’re probably right,” I concluded.
He hugged my leg, turned on his heel and strolled away, singing.
I thought to myself how wonderful it was to be childlike. What a disadvantage to be so old that I couldn’t believe like him anymore, and so young that my lack of belief would cost me for quite some time to come.
In all my life, I never met anybody who was better off for doubting. I have never seen atheists, agnostics or even overly zealous thinkers walk away singing.
Maybe in the vast spectrum of reality they are better off possessing knowledge, but for me, I want to be like that little boy:
Chase my dreams, talk to my ambitions and walk away … singing.
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