“Sure do,” I said.
“Good luck,” he said somewhat ominously. And off he went.
Just how difficult are these kids? I wondered.
The assembly bell rang, and a minute later, the doors to the classroom banged open and the students spilled in. Pandemonium reigned for a few minutes as some students found their seats while others congregated in groups talking to each other, sitting on top of desks, and playing handheld video games. I imagine the kids immediately sized me up as a substitute teacher and figured this would be an easy day to just skate by without having to do any work.
When the bell rang signaling it was time for class to start, I told everyone to sit in their assigned seats so I could take attendance. “Okay, before I call your names, it’s only appropriate that I introduce myself.” So I got up and wrote MR. LIZARD on the board.
“How do you pronounce that?” I heard one kid ask.
“Lizard,” I said. “Just like the animal.”
“You look like Santa Claus, dude!” another kid interrupted, and I heard a bunch of snickers.
“Well, for all you know, I could be,” I said with my same knowing little smile.
“But you just wrote ‘Mr. Lizard’ up on the board!” one of the girls challenged me.
“Well, you wouldn’t expect me to write ‘Mr. Claus’ up on the board, now, would you?”
The class laughed, and we moved on to roll call. After taking attendance, I instructed them to turn to their first assignment and start working. Teachers usually leave assignments for substitute teachers to pass out and the kids to work on quietly. But these kids were anything but quiet. I told them a few times to keep it down, but most of them went right on talking. I told them in what I hoped was a more authoritative voice to quiet down and get to work, but it had no effect. I started to get a little flustered. It was not going well.
I decided to try something. Having no idea whether it would work, I got up, walked over to the board, and wrote in large letters NAUGHTY LIST, drawing a line under it with an exaggerated flourish. Even though my back was to the class, I could sense that caught their attention. Below that, I wrote a couple of names of the kids who were talking rather than working and turned to face the class. Most of the students looked back at me, except for the ones still talking. One of the boys was chatting with a girl, and she suddenly pointed to his name written on the board.
“Hey!” he shouted indignantly as he spun around. “What are you doing?!”
I smiled slowly. “I’m used to making lists. So I figured I would share my naughty list with you. And if you’re being naughty, then you’re on the naughty list.”
“I don’t wanna be on the naughty list!” he protested.
“Well, there’s only two lists you can be on, as far as I’m concerned: the naughty or the nice one.”
The boy scowled, folded his arms across his chest, and slumped down angrily into his seat.
In my heart, I believe Santa Claus wants kids to be on the nice list, so I prompted the class with an unspoken promise, “But you all know the song, dontcha? ‘He’s making a list, and…’” I waited.
“…checking it twice,” the entire class said together.
“Exactly!” I waved my arm in acknowledgment of the correct answer. “So if you stop being naughty, then you’ll probably get back on the nice list.” And I went over to the other side of the board and wrote NICE LIST with a line underneath.
Amazingly, the kids quieted down, and most of them opened their books. When I noticed students quietly doing their assignment (instead of filing their nails or staring off into space), I would write their names on the nice list. Students who ignored the assignment or acted up went onto the naughty list. And if one of the students who was on the naughty list quieted down and got cracking on their work, I would move their name from the naughty to nice list. As the morning went on, more and more names migrated in the right direction.
I had been there for about two hours when the headmaster finally walked in to check on me. The kids all sat diligently doing their work, and the headmaster appeared totally shocked. He looked around the classroom and then turned to me with an expression of total disbelief on his face. “I can’t believe how quiet and engaged they are!”
“Well, the teacher left a lot of work for them to do,” I said.
“But they never actually do it,” the headmaster said. He scratched his head, looking confounded, but he quickly got himself focused again. “So, are you going to need to be relieved at noon?”
“Oh, no,” I replied with a warm smile. “Everything’s just fine here. I’m happy to finish out the day.”
The headmaster now seemed completely confused. I don’t think that he’d ever had a substitute teacher in such good spirits after two hours with these kids. “Well, um, great then.” He started to leave but stopped as he opened the door. “What’s your secret? How did you get them to do their work?”
I pointed to the board over my shoulder and said, “Nobody wants to be on the naughty list.”
His face took on a sarcastic expression. “Oh, yeah, like you’re Santa!” He turned around, shaking his head, and walked out.
The kids all looked up at me, and I said, “See? Some folks just don’t believe.” And I added in a low whisper, “Ho, ho, ho.”
The students behaved for the rest of the day, finishing all their work and remaining mostly quiet. These teenagers probably hadn’t believed in Santa for many years, but I think they wanted to hedge their bets, just in case. Santa’s lists of naughty and nice may be the stuff of legend, but from what I’ve seen, when Santa Claus is around, nobody wants to take any chances.
As I packed up the kids’ completed assignments at the end of the day, I smiled thinking about how much the lore of Santa Claus motivates us to behave admirably—whether we’re five, fifteen, or fifty years old. I turned off the classroom light, closed the door, and walked to my car softly whistling to myself.
“So be good for goodness’ sake…”
FIFTEEN
Won’t You Guide My Sleigh Tonight?
I THINK ONE OF THE NICEST PARTS OF CHRISTmas is that it offers the promise of renewal. Maybe it’s because it comes so close to the end of the year, or because of the sense of goodwill and compassion in the air. But no matter what inspires it, Christmas is a time for forgiveness and hope. On one fateful night, this Santa actually steered his “sleigh” through a Christmastime blizzard to make sure one family got the message that there’s always the possibility for second chances.
EVERY YEAR, THE SAME THING HAPPENS. THE closer it gets to Christmas, the more last-minute calls come in requesting Santa appearances. While I’d love to accommodate every request, and I try to fit in as many visits as I can each season, I invariably have to turn down many of the people who wait until the days just before Christmas to call me. And so it happened during the second week of December 2008 that I received a phone call asking for another last-minute Santa visit.
“Is this the Genuine Santa?” the woman’s voice asked, referring to the name of my website, GenuineSanta.com.
“Ho, ho, ho! That’s me!” I said in a jolly voice. “What can I do for you?”
“How much do you charge for a visit?”
I usually find that when folks lead with that question, it’s because money is a concern. So I always respond in such a way that gives them the dignity of having choices without embarrassing them. “Well, it all depends on a lot of things,” I said matter-of-factly. “If I have any openings left during the time that you want me to come, if it’s a day or evening visit, weekday or weekend, how many children will there be, and so on. Can you give me a little more information about the visit?” I was frankly doubtful that I could fit in any more visits this late in the season, but I didn’t want to outright turn her away.
“Well,” she said, her voice starting to quiver a little. “It’s for my son. He’s in a children’s home. He’s been taken away from me by the state, but I’m gonna get him b
ack one day, I swear. I’m in a twelve-step program, and I’m working really hard. But they won’t let me see him, not even for Christmas, and it’s so hard being alone—for him and for me.”
Any feeling of doubt I had vanished completely, instantly replaced by overwhelming sympathy. I thought about how difficult it was for Linda and me having Ashley—by then a grown young woman out on her own—so far away from us at Christmastime. “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s okay,” the woman said. “I know I screwed up. I started drinking after my divorce, and they were right to take Zachary away from me. He’s such a good boy, and he deserves a sober mom. I love him so much, and I just want him to know that he’s not alone on Christmas.”
I could hear the sincerity and pain in her voice. I personally believe that most people out there don’t have a malicious bone in their body. They just screw up sometimes and make bad choices or frustrating mistakes, for many and varied reasons. I try not to judge people because unless you’ve been where they are, you can’t know that you wouldn’t make the wrong choices, too.
I believe that everyone deserves a second chance to get things right, and I have to believe that Santa feels the same way. No one wants to be naughty. They just went off track somewhere along the way. Santa offers us a reminder of the ever-present opportunity to move to the nice list at any time simply by doing and being good.
So there was no question of what I would do next. “I can make an appearance at the home where your son is living,” I told her. I figured I could probably fit it in between a few other of my local visits set up for that week.
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” she exclaimed. “And I’d like you to please give him a special present from me.”
“How many children are there in the home?” I asked.
“About twelve, I think.”
“Will there be presents for the other children, too?”
“No, I can’t really afford to get gifts for all of them,” she said. “It’ll just be one for Zachary from his mommy being delivered by Santa Claus.”
I immediately saw the problem with this plan. “Ma’am, Santa Claus would never visit a houseful of children and give a Christmas present to only one of them. I’d need to have enough gifts to give every child.”
I could hear her becoming disheartened. “But that’ll be much more than I can afford.”
“Oh, they don’t have to be elaborate, expensive presents,” I assured her. “You can get fun little toys and games for under five dollars at most stores. I hand out those sorts of things all the time. I tell the children they’re ‘holdover presents’ for being extra good, and they’re just to keep things fun while waiting for the big presents on Christmas Day itself.”
The woman sounded more hopeful. “Well, maybe I could afford to do it that way.”
I flashed back to how wonderful my family and I felt that year we extended ourselves to Donna and her daughter, who didn’t have presents or a tree, and I was inspired to help this woman any way I could. “I’ll tell you what: if you supply enough toys for all the children and set it up with the home, I’ll deduct the cost of the toys from my fee. Then you won’t be paying any extra.”
“Really?” she asked, truly surprised.
“As long as you make sure all the presents are just about the same price range. I don’t want to give out eleven water pistols and yo-yos and then hand Zachary a microscope. It wouldn’t be right. But I can give Zachary a special message from you by whispering in his ear while he’s sitting on my lap. That way, the other children won’t know that he’s been singled out.”
The woman seemed extremely happy with the idea and told me she’d go set up the visit with the children’s home and call me back. The following day, however, her voice on the telephone sounded defeated and hopeless. “Mr. Lizard,” she said quietly, “I’m so sorry to have troubled you. But I can’t afford to do this. Please accept my apologies.”
What would Santa do?
“Okay,” I said without hesitation, “how about if I don’t charge you anything for my visit? I’ll just show up at the home. Can you still supply me with the toys to hand out?”
At first she sounded unsure. “Um, yes, I think so.” Then, because I think she didn’t quite understand me and wanted to be certain of what I’d just said, she asked, “You mean you won’t charge me anything?”
“If you can go out and buy the toys, yes, then I’ll happily do the visit for free.”
“Yes! Oh, certainly, yes! Oh, thank you so much! I can get you the toys. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
I laughed. “Ma’am, I’m Santa Claus. It’s what I do.”
The woman called the children’s home, and, after I had a brief phone interview with them and the folks at the home ran a quick background check, they cleared me for a visit. Meanwhile, the woman went out to a local toy store and bought a dozen five-dollar toys for me to hand out. Unfortunately, she couldn’t drop them off with me because her driver’s license had been suspended. But in for a penny, in for a pound, I drove an hour to her home to pick up the gifts for the children.
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” she said at the door.
“You just keep working hard to get your son back,” I told her. “Now, I’ll need to get the address of the children’s home.”
“Oh, yes. Let me write it down for you.” She grabbed a pen and paper, scribbled out an address, and handed it to me.
I looked at the address in shock. “Wow,” I said, before I could even stop the word from escaping my mouth. I’d assumed the children’s home would be close to this woman’s house so I could fit the visit in between others, and that the mileage costs wouldn’t be significant for me. But it wasn’t close at all.
“What is it?” she asked nervously. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, this address is a two-hour drive for me in the other direction, and…”
I could see the hope fading from her eyes. What would Santa do?
“…and you know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”
Tears began filling her eyes. She went to hug me. “Thank you. Oh, thank you so much!”
I hugged her back, and then I wished her luck and told her I hoped things would work out for her. “I promise to give Zachary your message,” I said as I got into my van.
Early the next morning, snow started falling…and falling…and falling. More than two inches of snow per hour blanketed the ground, blown by forty-five-mile-per-hour gusts that created bitterly cold wind chills and reduced visibility on most roadways to zero. Such treacherous weather conditions resulted in the authorities issuing a “Level 3 Snow Emergency.” The strongest road travel advisory that can be issued, a Level 3 Snow Emergency states that “All roadways are closed to non-emergency personnel. No one should be out during these conditions unless it is absolutely necessary to travel…. Those traveling on the roadways may subject themselves to arrest.”
Very bad timing for me.
My appearance at the children’s home had been scheduled for that afternoon, smack dab in the middle of the worst part of this major winter storm. With only a week until Christmas, I had no openings left to reschedule. And more than that, the children had been told to expect a visit from Santa Claus. And when has a blizzard ever stopped the big man in the red suit from showing up?
I knew I had to get myself there somehow. So I put on my Santa outfit, got into my van, and left extra early to give myself enough time to travel there through the storm.
The driving conditions deteriorated quickly as I turned onto the interstate. Fortunately, I had snow tires and a significant amount of experience driving through severe winter conditions—snow, sleet, ice, blizzards, you name it. I’d lived and worked in New England through nearly a decade of tough winters. Even so, I found that drive to be one of the most difficult of my life. Although I literally saw no other cars on the highway—since everyone else seemed to have obeyed the emergency advisory—I still had to keep my
speed down, and a few times I even had to pull over to stop and wait for a snow squall to clear and allow me to see again.
By the time I’d made it about halfway, the snow had decreased visibility so much that I heard the police siren behind me long before I could see the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror. I signaled to indicate that I’d pull over as soon as I could safely do so, and a few moments later, I came to a stop along the shoulder of the interstate.
I could see the state trooper, bundled in a thick gray and blue coat, get out of his patrol car and walk toward my vehicle. I rolled down my window, and snow immediately blew in. Fortunately, I was bundled up myself in full, ultra-warm Santa Claus regalia.
The state trooper looked into the van. “Where are you going, Santa?” he asked, obviously noticing my costume.
“I’m on my way to a children’s home to deliver Christmas presents to some boys and girls there.”
“You realize that during a Level 3 Snow Emergency, it’s emergency vehicles only allowed on the roads. So why shouldn’t I cite you?”
I spread out my arms to show my entire outfit. “Officer, look at me.” I smiled. “I’m the one person in the world who can’t use snow as an excuse not to show up. And anyway, this is a children’s home. It’s not like the boys and girls won’t be able to make it there because of the snow. They live there, and they’re expecting Santa to come this afternoon. I just can’t bear to disappoint children, especially at this time of year.”
The officer thought about it for a moment. “Okay, you’ve got a point. But I can’t have you risking your life driving alone in these conditions. So I’ll tell you what: I’ll drive along in front of you until you get there. You all right with that, Santa?”
“Oh, that would be just great!” I responded happily. “There’s nothing like getting a police escort.”
The irony was not lost on me as I steered through that stormy night, a glowing red light up ahead of me guiding the way. We slowly and carefully drove the remaining distance and pulled into the parking lot of the children’s home. It was a friendly looking two-story house with lots of windows, a porch, and a front door with small panels of stained glass. The officer got out of his vehicle and walked over to me as I headed toward the front door.
Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) Page 13