I wore the Red Suit (15 page)

The space for the Santa set is limited as it held the big chair and all the decorations. Therefore, whenever some child or adult comes in a wheel chair, I go out to them. Just because they are stuck in a chair does not mean they should be deprived of seeing Santa. There were four men, ages nineteen to twenty two, all in wheel chairs, all with Cerebral Palsy since the age of three. I left my Santa chair and went to them to make it easier. They could not get that close to my position in wheel chairs. I stopped and talked with each of them. They could not respond so I could understand, but their attendants knew what they wanted to say. I even gave them a reindeer hat. Sometimes it is hard to visualize these full-grown men are only 5 years old mentally. One of the men who had a sad face brightened when I talked to him directly. He even smiled with crooked teeth. One of the attendants I noticed seemed moved, as he brushed away a tear from his cheek. He thanked me for his Christmas present. “Your present? You did not ask me for anything” I said to him. “My request is the same every year” he says. “That he would like to see Jeff smile. You see Jeff has not smiled in twelve years.”

         
I was once asked what is the hardest part of playing Santa? I think by far the most painful thing that I endure playing Santa Claus is seeing the children with a genetic mark on their face or a diseased altered body. Does anyone really know how hard it is to see a child who is not his or her own with a shriveled arm or hand? Some children with a misshapen skull, a missing ear or who could never smile.

A little three-year-old girl with the prettiest and deepest blue eyes came to me as I sat in my chair. She has a protruding lump the size of an egg on the bridge of her nose. Her older brother offered an unsolicited explanation. Gina had fallen a year ago, and this lump appeared. He went on to tell me that the doctors will not operate because part of the lump goes into the brain. I truly wish these times I were Saint Nicholas with the healing power of Jesus behind me.

To lay my hand on that misshapen and red cancer which is foreign to such a young and pretty girl's face.

I have seen kids four or five with most of their front teeth decayed away. Underprivileged kids with tattered clothes come to see me. They only come because of the package food the mall gives me to give to all the kids. Last year, it was four packages of cereal. Some kids come back several times. I always give extra to those children.

A precious eight-year-old little girl who sat upon my knee with the biggest smile.
 
The first thing I noticed was stitches in her cheek close to her mouth.
 
I have seen many kids with bandages and stitches through the years. I did not usually ask about it as it might upset them. I ask her what she wanted for Christmas. She wanted a new puppy and a few other things. Curiosity got the best of me, so I had to ask her. “What happened to your cheek? Did you fall down and get cut?” She said “no. My dog bit me!” I have a feeling the new puppy request is because they took the dog that bit her and put it to sleep.

Then there is little two year old Ely has no muscle control says her mother. I watch as the little girl’s arms and legs twitch as the mother holds her. Cradling that young head from moving as the neck muscles offer no support. The mother trusts me as I take the child ever so gently and place her in the crook of my arm. I listen as the mother tells little Ely to smile at the camera and Santa. I watch as the gift to this mother puts forth an ear-to-ear grin. I hold her a little tighter as her muscles spasms and almost throw her from my fur covered arms. I feel for this child, as I do for all of them that pass before me, whether sick or healthy. I hide the tear that escapes my eye with a swipe of a gloved hand. But that tiny drop of water leaves a glistening trail down my check. “Why do you cry” asks the mother? “I am sorry” I return. “I feel sad for Ely and you.” “Please don’t” she says. “Our family has bonded even stronger under this hardship. We will make it through this, because we have each other. The doctors say there are medicines and therapy that may help when she is older. For now, we have to wait.” “Do you mind if I pray for her” I ask?

“If you wish Santa, or should I call you Saint Nicholas?” I smile and after removing my glove, I place my hand on Ely’s head and say a prayer for her healing and blessings on her young life. As the mother takes the child from me, she thanks me for my tenderness. In moments, they are lost among the crowd.

Another hour later, along comes Peter. I am guessing about age nine. He is using two walking canes strapped to each forearm. Hard metal braces protrude from the end of each pant leg. Polio I imagine or a generic disorder of some kind? I never ask to be sure. It takes Peter some time to walk to my chair with the aid of those canes. Twice, I started to get up and carry him the rest of the way. Both times, the mother motioned for me not to. He finally makes it, sighs, draws a deep breath and says, “hi Santa!” “Hi there Peter” I say to him. “Would you like to sit on my knee?” “No Santa” he says. “I am too old and my leg braces may hurt you.” Now here is a child whose inability to walk unaided, and a future of obstacles, is more worried about my welfare than his own. I listen to his Christmas wishes and when he is done, I lay a hand on his shoulder again call upon the Spirit of God to bless this child. He smiles and takes my Santa gift of reindeer ears, and a small sealed cake; kisses me on the nose and hobbles away. His mother meets him part way with a wheelchair. I learned later from one of the Santa staff, that Peter wanted to walk the thirty feet in line like the other kids. It must have been hard for him. We should all have such strength.