Yesterday I promised you a Santa Claus story. If you recall, Santa was my husband’s cousin. When we went to visit in Georgia many years ago, he agreed to surprise the children with a home visit. The children were cousins between the ages of five months and ten. Shortly after dinner, Santa rings the front door bell. He did not dress in his red suit, but it was easy for them to recognize him without it because of his jolly countenance and fluffy white beard.
He was welcomed in and it was obvious that the kids in the room knew that he was the real deal – Santa had arrived. His personality was such that the children were at ease and happy to make small talk about school, whether they had been naughty or nice and what kinds of things they hoped he might leave them for Christmas.
The children were excited by his visit, each taking a turn to say a bashful hello. I looked around and my six year old son had disappeared. He wasn’t shy by any means and would be more likely to give him advice on how to make the rounds more efficiently. So, there in the presence of Santa, the dream of lots of girls and boys, my child wandered off.
I wondered where he had gone and what he might be doing. I left the room and found him at the front door. He had quietly opened it and was peering out into the driveway. “What on earth is he doing?” I thought to myself. I whispered to him, “What are you doing looking out the front door?” His reply? “I just wanted to see how he got here.”
I never did ask my son if he was surprised to see that Santa drove a white minivan that night and not the reindeer and the sleigh.