Christmas Magic

by Jack Canfield

  Perhaps security measures were different in the 1970s, or maybe Santa’s always had carte blanche clearance, or perhaps someone at the hospital just believed, but somehow we were welcomed onto the pediatric ward. We joked and giggled with the sick children, who lit up at the sight of Santa. Toys were pulled from Santa’s sack and as it emptied out, our hearts filled up.

  We wished everyone “Sweet Dreams” and headed for the exit. The automatic doors released us into the cold night. We stood, still and speechless, trying to take in everything we’d experienced. Though our hearts were warmed, our hands were freezing.

  “Let’s go to the Wharf for Irish coffee,” I said shivering.

  Just then a family walked by engaged in a lively conversation peppered with Yiddish expressions. Without missing a beat, Santa raised his arms as if ordaining a blessing, “A gesund auf dein keppeleh,” (A blessing on your head) he winked. Stunned at first, the parents returned the good wishes with a hearty laugh.

  “Zie Gesund, Santa!” (To your health!)

  We arrived at the overflowing Buena Vista Bar. Santa had an inkling he was about to have his dreams come true. Though the patrons were three deep at the bar, it was as if Moses had parted the Red Sea and a path opened for us to walk through. A man popped up offering us his seat as he ordered a round of drinks. As soon as Santa was seated the parade began. Women in varying degrees of intoxication clamored to sit on Santa’s lap.

  “So, have you been naughty or nice?” Santa would ask, penning their names and numbers in their appropriate categories. He was clever and quick and whether it was his lawyering skills or his alluring blue eyes, those women confessed everything. While Santa’s book filled with dating data, I chatted with the men who had obvious elf fantasies.

  Noticing the time, Santa leaned over and said we had one final stop.

  “Come by tonight and have eggnog with my kids and friends,” Santa’s recent date had suggested. Carrie had only been on two dates with Steve, so she had no idea what her invitation might bring. We had to get across the Golden Gate Bridge, and there was no time to lose.

  “Ho ho ho,” Santa quieted the noisy bar. “I’ve got a bit of an issue. My sleigh’s been towed by SFPD and we’d hate to disappoint the children of Marin, would...”

  Before he could finish his sentence we had three offers to whisk us across the bridge. We arrived around midnight. “Merry Christmas!” We rapped at the door. Recognizing Steve’s voice, Carrie opened the door.

  “Santa!” she gasped. Her children stared in amazement. Even the adults were intrigued. Was it a miracle? Not exactly, but the room was aglow with sheer wonder and magic.

  Maybe I’ve only celebrated Christmas for twelve hours once in my lifetime, but if you ask if I believe in Santa, oh, I do. And as for Santa’s black book? It never got much play, because not too long afterwards, Santa’s girl, Carrie, said, “I do” and became Mrs. Claus.

  ~Tsgoyna Tanzman

  Santa Sent Me

  How beautiful a day can be

  When kindness touches it!

  ~George Elliston

  “Mom, look, there’s Santa!” my six-year-old son, Jordan, shouted. “Can I sit on his lap and tell him what I want for Christmas?”

  Jordan’s three-year-old sister, Julia, grabbed my hand. “Please, Mommy?” Her huge blue eyes seemed to plead with me to say yes.

  I sighed. It had been an incredibly rough year. I’d gone through a divorce I hadn’t wanted, the kids and I had subsequently lost our home, and making ends meet as a single mom was proving a lot more difficult than I’d anticipated. And here I was at the mall, just three days before Christmas, hoping and praying to find a few toys on sale so that my children would have some semblance of a Christmas.

  Slowly, I shook my head at the kids’ question. “I’m sorry, guys, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to sit on Santa’s lap this year.”

  Both of their faces fell. “Why not?” Julia asked. And Jordan said, “But I wanted to tell Santa about the Lego set I want him to bring me.”

  I bent down and looked into their sad little faces. “When you sit on Santa’s lap, they take your picture and it costs money.” I felt my eyes fill with tears as I added, “And we just can’t afford it right now.”

  “But, Mommy, it’s almost Christmas,” Julia wailed. “How will Santa know what we want if we don’t sit on his lap and tell him?”

  At her words, my tears threatened to spill over. My heart ached for all that my children had lost in the last year. They’d already given up so much, and now they couldn’t even tell Santa about their Christmas wishes. Not that I could afford to make them come true anyway.

  I was stumbling through another explanation when I noticed that the line of children waiting to see Santa was gone. He caught my eye and motioned us over to him. I shook my head and shrugged my shoulders, ashamed that even Santa seemed to know that I was broke. Santa waved us over a second time. When I ignored him, he got out of his giant velvet chair and walked toward us. “Hello, children,” he boomed when he reached us. “What would you two like for Christmas?”

  My kids’ eyes lit up. Julia started to describe her wish list, but Santa interrupted her. “Oh, no, young lady,” he said. “If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to do it right. You have to sit in my chair and tell me. And we’ll take your picture, so your mom can always remember you at this age.”

  “Santa, we’re not going to get our picture taken this year.” Quietly I added, “Things are a little tight right now.”

  He turned to me and said with the kindest smile, “This one’s on me, dear.”

  I began to protest, but my kids looked so happy that I just couldn’t say anything. Each of my children took a turn on Santa’s lap and then the three of them posed for a picture. Their smiles were like beacons of light during the darkest time in my life, and I was incredibly grateful for Santa’s kindness.

  But he wasn’t finished yet. While his helper developed our photo, Santa gave my children the customary coloring book and candy cane. And then he handed me a note card. I glanced down at it and read the words, “Santa Sent Me.”

  Before I could ask the question, he explained, “My son is the manager of the toy store on the second floor. Let the children pick out anything in the store and then give this note to the clerk at the check-out. They’ll know what it means.”

  I was about to say, “But I don’t know what it means,” when Santa patted my shoulder. “I said this one was on me, and I meant it.”

  My eyes filled with tears as I looked into his kindly face. The thought occurred to me that his bushy white beard and jelly-belly tummy were probably not part of his costume. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” I said. “I am overwhelmed by your generosity.”

  “It’s part of the job.” He winked and added, “I’m Santa, you know.”

  On the car ride home, both children chattered non-stop about their new toys. Listening to them made my heart feel lighter than it had in months. Finally, Julia said, “Mommy, you know how sometimes the Santas at the mall are just the real Santa’s helpers? Well, I don’t think it was like that this time. Tonight, we saw the real Santa.”

  I smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “I think you’re right about that, honey.”

  “And he even gave me my present early.” She hugged her new doll and said, “And it’s the best present ever.”

  I felt the constant weight finally lift from my shoulders and I knew that Santa’s gift to me was even more precious.

  ~Diane Stark

  Santa’s Secret

  There are three stages of a man’s life:

  He believes in Santa Claus,

  he doesn’t believe in Santa Claus,

  he is Santa Claus.

  ~Author Unknown

  “He’s here! He’s here!” I shouted as the sound of ringing bells approached our front door. I jumped down half a flight of stairs to open the door, but my brother beat me to it. He threw it open, and from the threshold Santa
shouted, “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!”

  My other siblings gathered from around the house—the younger ones, like me, beside themselves with excitement, with the older following more slowly behind. I eagerly watched as Santa handed father a sack of Christmas goodies, then made his way to the living room. He sat on the sofa where each of us would get a turn to sit on his lap and share with him our most earnest Christmas wishes.

  When my turn arrived, my father lifted me onto Santa’s knee.

  “Have you been good this year, young lady?”

  “Yes, sir!” I looked to my parents for confirmation.

  “What would you like for Christmas?”

  “I want a Cinderella Barbie doll.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” He winked at me, making no promises.

  I slid off his lap to let my brother have his turn.

  Santa shared pleasantries with my parents before wishing us all a final “Merry Christmas!” Then as suddenly as he’d arrived, he jingled his way down the stairs and out the door.

  It never bothered me that Santa arrived through the front door instead of the chimney. My mother said it was because we had a wood-burning stove instead of a fireplace. But I knew he was just a nice man pretending to be Santa Claus. The real Santa wouldn’t be so obvious.

  As I grew older, I became less eager to sit on his lap and more interested in discovering his true identity. Ours was a small town, so I thought that if I looked hard enough past the beard, I would figure it out. I never did.

  My junior year of high school, with college admissions applications looming, I decided to join the Youth Town Council. Twice each week we would gather for meetings and service projects. Christmastime was no exception. We spent hours screwing light bulbs into the giant tinsel candy canes that hung from the light posts on Main Street. And we stripped down the Fourth of July floats to redecorate them for the Christmas Light Parade. But it was at our last meeting before Christmas that we received my favorite assignment.

  “All youth council members old enough to drive should arrive with your vehicle at 6 PM on Christmas Eve at this address.” Our advisor indicated an address written on the board.

  “What? We’re doing a project on Christmas Eve?” someone asked.

  “What’s the assignment?”

  She smiled before answering. “You’re going to drive Santa around town for his annual visits.”

  A murmur of anticipation spread at her announcement. It wasn’t until after the meeting adjourned that someone thought to ask, “Why does she need all of us?”

  After enduring the trepidation on my parents’ faces as they placed the keys to the family car into their teenaged daughter’s hands, I drove to the address. It was an unassuming warehouse on the outskirts of town leased by the local Lion’s Club chapter. I parked the car and walked into the building.

  About twenty men milled around a table heaped with Santa Claus costumes—some wearing beards, others wearing red pants and boots—as they dressed for their roles. They bantered and chatted, clearly looking forward to the night’s events.

  As I stood there, I began to wonder. Why would twenty men give up their Christmas Eve to put on a red suit and drive around town? I imagined one man might be willing to do it, but twenty?

  Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned. A Santa Claus stood there with a box of goody sacks under one arm. I looked at him for a minute before I realized I knew him. Santa was the church choir director... or at least this one was.

  “I guess you’re my driver,” he said, smiling.

  He handed me the route he’d been assigned, and I looked it over. It seemed somewhat haphazard until I realized that it had been carefully constructed so that this particular Santa would not likely be recognized at the houses he visited.

  He buckled his seatbelt as I pulled out of the parking lot, and we exchanged small talk on our way to the first stop. I waited in the car while he grabbed a goody sack and jingled his way up the sidewalk to the front door.

  “Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!” I heard him shout. I smiled to myself at the memories the sounds evoked.

  Ten minutes later he came back, eager to share everything that had happened—how the boy’s face lit up with wonder when he arrived, and how the younger brother was too shy to sit on his lap. It surprised me that he would be so excited—a grown adult. You’d think Santa had visited him!

  The night passed quickly. I drove him to each house, and after the visit he would tell me what happened inside. It seemed to me that our car had been magically altered to spread Christmas joy in its wake. We’d pull up to a quiet house, Santa would make his visit, and we’d leave the same house, now full of life and holiday spirit.

  After three hours we finished our route. I drove him back to the warehouse and joined my fellow youth town councilors at the hot chocolate table. We listened to the stand-in Santas swap stories about their visits (“She asked me for a pony for Christmas. What was I supposed to say to that?”) and laugh together.

  As I stood there taking in the scene, it occurred to me that I was now privy to one of the biggest secrets in our small town... and I would never tell a soul.

  ~Rebecca C. Emrich

  Three Little Girls

  Love is what’s in the room with you at Christmas if you

  stop opening presents and listen.

  ~Author unknown, attributed to a 7-year-old named Bobby

  Three little girls in the evening’s light,

  Ready to climb into bed for the night.

  They gaze at the tree they hate to leave,

  For this is the magic of Christmas Eve.

  Three little girls who have tried to be good,

  Minding, reminding each other they should

  Thinking that Christmas must surely be late

  Because it came slowly, and they couldn’t wait!

  They’re hoping that Santa had been sleeping sound

  Last week when they left all their clothes lying ’round.

  Hoping that, too, he had been fast asleep

  When one hit the other and caused her to weep!

  Hoping that Santa just wasn’t there

  When Daddy had made them sit on a chair

  The time that their dinner was left on their plate,

  And hoping that they hadn’t been good too late!

  It’s so hard to move them away from the glow

  Of tinsel and bright lights and glistening snow.

  But think of their dreams as they sleep through the night

  To again in the morning, awake to this sight!

  Despite all their protests and giggles of glee,

  And after a warning that St. Nick might flee

  If maybe he found them awake in the night,

  They rush off to bed and are snuggled in tight.

  As parents we know that St. Nick will be here,

  For happiness blessed us throughout the year

  With the magic of children, their faith and their love.

  We whisper our thanks to the good God above.

  Three little girls in bed for the night

  Sure to arise with the morning’s first light.

  Lord, help them to gain all the joys that they can

  From this season of Love and Good Will toward all men.

  ~Beverly F. Walker

  The Twelve Days of Christmas

  A fellow who does things that count, doesn’t usually stop to count them.

  ~Variation of a saying by Albert Einstein

  From the minute our neighbor and best friend’s daughter, Olivia, was born, my son Bailey thought of her as his little sister. Bailey, being an only child, took her under his wing right from the start and loved to watch her grow and change. As Olivia began to talk and see the world through toddler and then little girl eyes, she looked up to Bailey as if he were her big brother and friend. With Bailey being thirteen years old and Olivia only four, there is quite an age gap. But I watch in awe as my son patiently plays kitchen with her, allowing her
to prepare fake food for him. He knows how much enjoyment she gets from that and that gives him enjoyment, too. He even gave her his favorite swing set when he thought he’d outgrown it, only with the hope that he can still be a “little boy” again and swing on it when we go to her house.

  With each holiday that approaches Bailey tries to share with Olivia the excitement that is to come... especially at Christmas. As Christmas was approaching last year Bailey talked to Olivia about how exciting it is when Santa arrives. He knew this Christmas she really understood and loved everything about the holiday from building gingerbread houses together to playing in the snow. Snow is definitely an unusual occurrence in Southern California but my husband drove up into the mountains, filled the back of his truck with snow and drove it home. He then dumped it out onto our lawn. The snow didn’t last that long but the memories did.

  Bailey really wanted to make the upcoming Christmas special for Olivia. He came up with a plan to surprise her by placing a small package on her doorstep each morning leading up to Christmas. He wanted to be her Secret Santa. We modified the words to the “The Twelve Days of Christmas” to reflect some of the things in her little world. So, the fun of shopping began.

  On the first morning we printed the lyrics to the song, modifying the theme just a bit, to match his special gifts. We only gave her the lyrics for that specific day so as not to spoil the surprise. On the first day, he delivered a bag of pears and a partridge ornament for her tree. On the second morning instead of two turtle doves, he delivered a turtle bath toy and Dove chocolate. The third day, coming up with the three French hens, was a bit harder but we did find what we thought looked like a hen ornament. The fourth day we found a bird plush toy that made real bird sounds when you squeezed it.

  What fun he was having each morning! I stood in the window in the early morning and watched him cross the street, drop the package at her front door, ring the doorbell and then run away as fast as he could. Each morning I watched as Olivia would swing the door open trying to catch her Secret Santa.