I was snug as a bug in a rug cuddled in my comforter in bed a couple of Saturdays ago. The sun was just starting to peek out as I reached that quasi-conscious state when I “heard” the sound of sleigh bells. Instinctively, I thought I must still be dreaming.

But they got louder and I heard a snort or two, but just rolled over. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the back door. Then another knock. Finally the doorbell.

I went downstairs and there he was. Santa Clause.

“Good morning, Joe!” the jolly old elf bellowed. All I could say was, “Santa?”

“Come on, come on, man,” SC said. “The day’s awastin’!”

“Santa?”

“Yeah. It’s me. Get dressed.”

“Why?”

“Because I have that gig up in Waterloo and you did such a good job chauffeuring me last year, I thought you might do it again.”

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“Comet and Vixen drove me in the sleigh,” he responded matter-of-factly.

“Well, why don’t they take you up there?”

I got one of those are you really asking me to reconsider the naughty and nice list looks as he very deliberately stated, “Because … I … want … you … to … take … me.”

“Okay! Okay! I get it,” I responded. “I’ll get dressed.”

As I headed back up the stairs, Santa added, “It’ll be fun. We’ll get a chance to talk and catch up. And Comet and Vixen can help you trim your grass. I just hope they don’t overeat and get sick.”

Just as a point of reference, you see, every year around this time, I get an unexpected visit from the jolly old elf or one of his representatives. One year it was Agent 0070826980826981224943020723604485615082698 — otherwise known as Ralphie {see my post, https://wisdomfromafather.com/2012/12/23/the-gifts/} when I was on assignment in St. Thomas. Other times it was Santa’s reindeer {did you know they not only fly, but talk as well?}. Of course, his elves were frequent visitors {I remember Elfis and Alf, two of the nicest elves Santa has, but they’re both a few sticks short of a Lincoln log home}. And Santa himself wasn’t a stranger. He stopped by last year, although the last time he actually visited with me was about 19 years ago when he got lost trying to find Willard/Romulus/Ovid.

As I lead Santa to the Subaru, he blurts out, “Thought we were taking your little red truck?”

“Can’t,” I explained. “It won’t pass inspection.”

“Hmmm,” he said. “We don’t have inspections at the North Pole.”

“Well we do in New York State, and they sort of frown on Swiss cheese frames,” I answered.

As we’re driving and maneuvering around an occasional swerving car as occupants noticed my special passenger, I noticed Santa had an armful of books with him. “Where did you get them?” I asked.

“At the library,” he responded.

“Okay, how did you get them?”

“I signed them out as S. Claus and gave them your address,” Santa said. “Don’t forget to bring them back.”

We get up to Waterloo and the St. Francis-St. Claire Christmas Bazaar. The jolly old elf made a grand entrance, worked the bazaar rooms and took his place of honor. Repeatedly he bellowed “Merry Christmas” to the young and old. I watched him have his picture taken with children and adults. He seemed to take pleasure panning for the cameras, listening to the young one’s hopes for Christmas morning. He was comfortable holding a three month old, had a sparkle in his eye when two young ladies asked for a picture with him and hugged a grandmotherly woman with warmth. He also knelt beside a one week old, gently adding a “God bless you” to his greeting.

Three brothers stopped by with their lists, with the two older gents making note the four year old just “scribbled.” “That’s okay,” Santa said with a smile. “I can read scribble,” as the eyes of his older brothers turned into saucers and drawing an awe-filled, “You can?”

He explained to the children how they should be good all year long, but especially at this time of year. One girl said there was an elf at her house, causing the big guy to ask, “Is it Holly?” “How did you know her name?” she asked in shock. “I know all my elves,” said Santa. “They give me regular updates.”

That even surprised me. How did he know the elf’s name? With a twinkle in his eye, Santa told me, “Sometimes you just get lucky.”

I was awed by his gentleness. He actually sprinkled some “Christmas” dust in the air and perhaps, just perhaps, got the season off  to a good, wholesome start, remembering the festivities but also the reason for the season.

As we drove back, I asked Santa why he does these gigs.

“So I can remember what it’s all about,” he said. “It’s not just the kids … it’s the kid in all of us. It’s not just about the toys and games. It’s about family. It’s about simple faith. It’s about the promises and hope for future generations. When you hold a baby you know all is well with the world. When you hug a grandma you rekindle their faith in the future. That’s why I do these gigs. I need to be reaffirmed at times, too.”

We got back home and Santa hitched up the reindeer. He gave me a hug. “Thanks,” he said. “See you in a couple of weeks.”

No, Santa. Thank you.

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: God put Santa Claus on earth to remind us Christmas is ‘sposed to be a happy time. — Bil Keane