THE MAGIC OF CHRISTMAS

Ah, the holidays.

Traffic jams, pushy shoppers, short tempers, inflated prices…and that’s just during the holiday bake sale at my kids’ school.

Sometimes I wonder why I look forward to this time of year with such exuberance. But then my children will do something selfless and unexpected and, like this year’s fruitcake, my doubts are shelved until the next holiday season.

A few weeks ago, my seven-year-old decided that he needed to personally deliver his Christmas list to Santa Claus. So, we journeyed to the one place where you are certain to find the Jolly Old Elf this time of year -- the local mall.

Of course, my nine-year-old complained the entire way. It seems that at some point during the last twelve months he made the conversion from believer to non-believer. Recently, the two of us discussed the matter.

Me: “I don’t know how you can be so sure--“

Him: “I just am.”

Me: “Well, what if you’re wrong? You know he only brings presents to those who believe in him.”

Him: “Come on, Dad -- everybody knows that Santa Claus was created by the toy companies to help them reduce year-end inventory.”

Me: “Yeah, well, you better watch out, or you might just find a lump of coal in your stocking this year.”

Him: “Oooh, I’m scared!”

Hearing my son mock me, I responded like the parental veteran that I am and stormed out of the room.

With my eldest now a lost cause, I focused on preserving the magic of Christmas for my younger son. My determination was immediately tested on the drive to the mall.

“Explain to me again how there can be so many Santas running around?” asks my eldest.

“Those are his helpers,” I snort. My wife throws him a nasty look for good measure.

“Yeah,” adds my youngest. “Each one’s an elf.”

“Oh, right,” says the Grinch seated next to him. “Then it would probably hurt if I pulled on his beard.”

I eye him in the rearview mirror. “You can bet it’s gonna hurt…”

The threat seems to register, and soon my two boys are immersed in a line-by-line comparison of their respective Christmas lists. Wouldn’t want to receive any duplicate gifts now...

Moments later, we are maneuvering through the hordes of glassy-eyed shoppers filling the mall, and I’m wishing we would have taken a rope and tied ourselves to it -- as a lifeline. But, it’s too late for that.

Then, we see it. A line of people extending as far as the eye can see. I’m thinking, Britney Spears tickets must be about to go on sale, but I know I’m wrong. These people are making their annual pilgrimage to see Kris Kringle.

Now, I’m not saying the line was long, but I did notice some of the parents had brought tutors along for their children.

Of course, my first reaction is to make a u-turn and leave. Then, I see the look in my younger son’s eyes, and I know I’m not going anywhere. Fast.

So, after a wait that lasts about as long as it takes to cook a twenty-pound turkey, a wait during which my wife and I break up more fights than you see during an English soccer match, we approach the head of the line.

I take my first look at the man on the throne and -- darn if he didn’t look like the real McClaus, er, McCoy. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear…

At this point, a female elf walks up to act as escort for my oldest son. I look down, and he is nothing but grins and goosebumps. He climbs onto Santa’s lap, and suddenly he looks three again. I watch as he whispers in the Merry One’s ear, then they share a few chuckles.

When he comes walking back to us, there’s a sparkle in his eye and spring in his step. I almost want to send a search party after my real son.

Next, my youngest takes center stage. I move a little closer and hear Santa ask: “What’s the one thing you want most this Christmas?”

He replies, “I want my brother to believe in you.”

Santa smiles. “Oh, he does, little Jack. He does.”

Then the Jolly Old Elf gives me a wink, and I begin to think that just about anything is possible.

Heck, I might even eat that fruitcake this year.

(c) Marc L. Prey 2002
All rights reserved.