four leaf clover

As the New England air began to get colder, and my mailbox began to fill up with Christmas cards and lights seemed to grow overnight on bushes all around the neighborhood, I knew this only meant one thing: Santa Claus was coming to town.

In the past, Christmas had meant fun, family and holiday cheer, but I knew this year was the big leagues, and I had to get my game face on very soon if I was going to start answering questions and planting the seed of belief, faith and fairy tales in our “newest edition.” (Two years ago my boyfriend and I got custody of his grandson, who was at the time, two years old.) While the first and even second year of his life with us, was easy enough, this year he was totally on to the idea of a man in red suit coming down our chimney with presents, eating cookies, drinking milk and with a twinkle of his eye and touch of his nose, be back rooftop with his posse of reindeer. At four years old he seemed to know much more than I ever did about this jolly old red faced guy.

As more and more lights appeared on random shrubs, and more and more Christmas songs played on the radio, the overwhelming idea that this was up to us to pull off, made my eyes twitch and stain my face red, with the nervousness of this yearly ritual that was fast upon us. I was after all, too old for this. At 40, I had already stopped putting up a big Christmas tree due to the mess, no more lights, ah electricity bill, and who needed decorations…really? Who sees them anyways?

Well, this year it would all happen, decorations, tree, Christmas movies, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer song rehearsals nightly, and cookies were carefully chosen for Santa Claus. We made reindeer food (oatmeal and glitter) and sprinkled it on the front lawn and I sprinkled the fireplace with powder and made boot prints from Santa. After a few days, and a beautiful winter storm, I began to think to my self that this might even be fun. There was one last event though, the infamous sitting on Santa’s lap.

A few days before Christmas, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Santa did make a stop, only this was no ordinary stop, and no ordinary Santa Claus. This particular Santa Claus arrived on a giant fire truck courtesy of the Springfield (Massachusetts) Fire Department and had a certain twinkle in his eye that was very familiar to me. As the lights flashed atop the truck and the firemen proudly helped Santa off the huge, shiny ladder truck, children, and hundreds of them, poured out of the American Legion Post 420, to meet their new white haired friend, and our “grandson” held tightly to my hand in awe of what he was seeing. Pride of the fireman and of Santa took over me, and my eyes began to well up with tears of joy, delight and honor to know these people. The kind of people who would give of themselves freely and openly to children they didn’t know, and in a way that was so completely full of honor and respect, it left me speechless. Thankfully, just then Old Man Winter blew a strong gust directed right at me and my tears froze in place before spilling down my cheeks.

As AJ carefully and a little nervously made his way over to Santa to get a candy cane, he whispered to me, “I wish Papa could see this!” Little did he know that his Papa could see him.

Soon, Santa Claus made his way in to the hall of the American Legion and began handing out huge bags of presents to all the children! AJ looked on, from a safe distance at all was going on and little by little began to trust in the pure enjoyment and spirit of the day and moved a little closer to Santa. As I looked on with my boyfriend and my father’s good friend, Mark K. (Captain, Springfield Police Department, retired) we began to wonder if this man who we had all come to know and love really was Santa Claus. Although his costume was flawless, something else was swirling around this wonderful man on this day of enchantment. Something more than magical, more than mystical, and something that usually only exists in the hearts of children. Pure hope. Pure joy. Pure faith. Pure love. And pure pride.

As the children clapped and laughed in delight, and told this magical man their deepest dreams and wishes, I began to see life, just a little differently. Although pure chaos existed all around…. right there, on that special day, that one meeting, one twinkle and one candy cane had certainly set life in motion. The cosmic pendulum of tradition, faith and belief in something that others may eventually say isn’t real, began to swing.

As I smiled, and laughed and sang and watched a small boy let go a little, believe a lot, and trust in the magic of Christmas, I also saw a grown man do the same. Across the crowded hall, I made eye contact with Santa Claus, my father and AJ’s Papa. For one second, our eyes locked and I knew that all the weeks of preparation, all the songs, decorations and tales of elves and toy making had done something more than I expected. Somewhere between the verses, ornaments and painting of our beloved “love rocks” I had managed to smile a little more, laugh a lot more and earn the trust and unconditional love of a small child. I had gotten everything I had asked for, and for the first time in a long time, I had no doubts as to whether Santa was real. He was real. He was there on that day and if you don’t believe me, the Springfield Fire Department, some members of the Springfield Police Department and American Legion Post 420 and my father (USAF) would all swear to it.

Christmas will come and go, always. The feeling of excitement and the hope of a new friend and the love of family is year round….as it should be.

PS.

Dear Santa,
our candy cane broke that day and we bandaged it up with gauze to hang on tree for you to see, but we were hoping next year you could leave a new one? We’ll leave out an extra cookie for you! Thank you.

PPS Special thanks to the Springfield Fire Department of Mass. and the American Legion Post 420 for making all this possible!

Peace in 2010 and always, Chris

www.fourleafclover.us

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 3rd, 2010 at 10:15 pm and is filed under Essays.



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