Santa’s Promise

A nine-year-old battered red minivan pulled into the Mall of Malls’ parking lot.  The backseat passenger, a child who was only a year older than the van, was on a mission.  Light snow fell as he gripped a list in his hand. The boy stared at  it and then the mall’s entrance. He and Santa had some things to discuss. Now.

His mother, an attractive woman with worry on her face, led him by the hand to the entrance. They walked past the food court (who had ever heard of Chinese food on a stick?) and on to the center court. That’s where Santa sat every year.  The little boy was determined to be first in line.  He needed all the time he could get with the old man.

He looked around at the giant chair, decorated trees and giant candy canes.  Fake snow covered the guard house that held the gatekeeper elf.  Jewelry stores surrounded the set.  Shoppers mingled in and out of the stores.

“Good,” Mike thought. “There are no other kids here yet.” His mother paid for the smallest photo package and a nice teenager dressed as an elf led the boy to Santa’s lap.”

“HO HO HO, What’s your name, little boy?”

“My name is Mike. I’m 10 and I know you’re not the real Santa.”

Santa was set back on his heels slightly.  He had kids doubt him before, but never so abruptly.

“I notice the toys aren’t made by elves.  I see “Made in China” on them.  And I know enough about physics to know you can’t make it around the world in one night. Oh yeah, is your beard real?”

Santa smiled and took the boys hand.  “Tug on it Mike — gently of course.  But give it a pull.”

Mike pulled the man’s beard and it was indeed attached.

“OK then. You’re more real than some of the store Santas. Do you have contact with the real one?”

Santa thought for a minute.  How do you deal with a child who acts 40 instead of 10?

“Mike, here’s the deal.  You tell me what you want for Christmas, and I’ll do my best to make sure your Christmas dreams come true.”

Mike pondered the offer for a minute.  Santa’s answer was more like one that a politician or a lawyer would give.  “OK. It’s a deal.”

The two shook hands and Santa picked him up and sat him on his lap.  Santa looked over at the mother and she looked tired to him.  She probably needed more for Christmas than the child did. It was just a hunch, but Santa’s hunches were as magical as flying reindeer.

Mike dug out his list and said, “OK Santa. I don’t want toys this year.  Toys are for kids. ” Santa didn’t know whether to chuckle or be sad by the child’s comment. Mike continued, “I need some things to happen ASAP.”

“Number one: I need my dad to get a job. He got laid off over a year ago and gave up looking for work six months ago.”

Santa looked back over at the mom. He now knew why she was tired looking.

“Number two: Please stop him from being depressed.”

Santa could feel a bead of sweat on his forehead.

“Number three: Could you make my mom smile again?”

Santa looked at the little boy’s eyes and wanted to give him a big hug.  The economic downturn had stolen the child’s childhood from him.

“Number four: I want an X-box.”

“OK, I can probably handle that one,” Santa said with a little bit of confidence.  But could he?  With the dad not working and apparently falling apart, it was going to be a challenge.

“What does your dad do, Mike?”

“He’s an engineer.”

“What kind of engineer, Mike?”

“He designed airplanes for Boeing.  He was laid off at the start of the recession. We moved here to live with my grandparents.   Shouldn’t Santa know this sort of thing?”

Santa stroked his beard and said, ” I haven’t updated my files. I know you’ve been good but need to clean your room.”

“Every kid needs to clean their room, Santa.  It doesn’t take Nostradamus to figure that one out.”

Santa rubbed his temple.  A sharp pain rocked his forehead. This kid was a challenge.

“Mike, thank you for coming to see me.  Santa will do what it takes to make sure your Christmas dreams come true.”

Mike looked at the old man and said, “OK. But you have a lot riding on this.”

Santa patted the boy on the back and motioned to his mother to join them.  “Ma’am, I need to talk to you for a half second. Alone.”

“Go stand over by the nice elf, Mike, ” Mike’s mother said lovingly. “Santa and I need to talk.”

Santa reached into his coat and handed the lady a card.  “Mike told me about your family situation.”

The mother’s face  flushed and showed she was horrified. Santa continued.

“Here’s my card. Before I became Santa, I was Vice President of Raygun Aerospace. Have your husband send his resume to me.  I will make sure he gets an interview. The rest is up to him, of course. But I’ll get his foot in the door. ”

Twenty years melted off Mike’s mother’s face.  Santa continued, “And come back tomorrow. I will have a package here for  Mike.”

Mike’s mom nodded and thanked Santa profusely, shaking his hand until she nearly broke his arm.

One year later

Santa saw Mike come up to the front of the line.  The old man got a slight grin on his face as he saw the boy’s freckled face once again.

” Hello Mike!”

The boy looked at the old man and smiled, “You remembered me!”

“How could I forget YOU, Mike!”

The boy ran up him and hugged him as hard as he possibly could.

“YOU ARE SANTA!”

Santa grinned and said in mock surprise, “I am? ”

“YOU DID IT!  My dad got a job. My mom smiled again and on Christmas morning, there was a package from you under the tree!”

Santa smiled, “Do you like your X-box?”

“I LOVE IT!”

Santa grinned.  Being Santa was more than a job to him. It was his duty to promote the true meaning of Christmas.  He saw Mike’s mom and dad standing over by the elf.  Mike’s dad mouthed quietly, “Thank you.”

Santa nodded and winked.

As they looked at their new friend, Mike and his parents believed in Santa Claus for the rest of their lives.  All because of Santa keeping his promise.

 

 

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3 Responses to Santa’s Promise

  1. parrotmom says:

    What a special story. It’s the season of all miracles and hope. Although with Christ everyday is a wonderful experience.

  2. Ed says:

    Where do this ideals come from? It’s neat how a tidbite of an ideal can be fleshed out into a story. Much like a simple drawing becomes a picture as it’s filled in. Thanks and keep them coming.

  3. Clucky says:

    Aaaaand you made me cry. Again.

    *sniff*

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