santa is alive and well

I was upset when I finally faced the truth and realized that a big fat man in a red suit didn't break into my house every early Christmas morning to deliver Barbies and TY Beanie Babies that he supposedly made in his "factory". I always doubted the factory part of the Santa Myth, btw. I was a smart kid; I knew there was no way Mattell was some dinky cabin in the North Pole filled with Mexican worker Elves. I always thought that Santa had a trust with all the toy companies; they probably just shared stocks, and shipped half their products to the North Pole, I mean, C'MON.

But I DID believe in Santa. I truly did. Because I saw him twice. Contrary to the factory ordeal, I was a good kid that really did believe every part of the Santa myth. I knew that Santa could land on my rooftop, and snap his fingers and end up in my house. I knew that Santa had to be real.

One time, I was so excited on Christmas Eve that I could hardly sleep. I woke up at around two in the morning, and sat in my bed, pondering. Should I go downstairs? Was Santa here yet? Should I wake everyone up?

Finally, I decided to summon my bravery and go downstairs. I tip-toed out of the room and walked carefully down the stairs, until I was on the bottom step. I bent over the railing, and peeked past the kitchen and into the living room, where I saw a shadowy figure underneath my Christmas tree.

My heart raced! Was it Santa? Did he see me? I quickly started to turn back, but decided I couldn't pass up this opportunity. So I looked again; the figure was still there! It wasn't my imagination. I blinked and pinched my arm; still there.

I went into the hall. Picture a little white girl with short hair and a Panda nightgown on, slowly walking to the glow of her Christmas tree, where some random stranger was arranging presents under.


"Santa?" I stopped by the end of the kitchen tile, where the kitchen setting met the carpeted living room. The man slowly turned around.

"Shhh," he said. "Don't make a sound."

Santa's voice wasn't jolly or good natured. Instead it was very harsh. In fact, he was different than I expected. He was skinny and had leathery skin and dirty hair. A swastika was carved into his forehead. On the wall he had written PIGGIES in red marker.

JK. It wasn't Charlie Manson. It was Santa.

Santa was much shorter than I expected, but he still looked like all the pictures and Coke bottles. His suit looked soft and shiny, and his beard was brushed and neat.

"Santa! Merry Christmas!"
"Why, thank you. And a Merry Christmas to you, too!" he winked. He set the last gift down, and sighed.
"I'm a hungry panda. Would you like to show me where my cookies are?"
"Of course!"

I showed Santa the plate of Low-Fat Stella Dora cookies and 2% Milk that was laying on the table. Santa sat on my chair and dunked the cookies into the glass, all the while smiling and humming to himself.

"Santa, how do you go all over the world in one night?" I asked him.
"Why, magic, of course! Plus, I have my trusty reindeer to help me."
"Ohh.."

Santa was done very quickly, and within seconds got up.

"Well, it's time to head down South. I've done all of Canada, New England, and the Great Lakes. Soon I'll be heading over to Brazil."

"Thank you for visiting. I love you, Santa!" I gave him a huge hug.

Santa smelled like alcohol. That was surprising.

"Well, I love you too, Vanessa. Off I go!" And poof, he was gone.

It didn't matter that Santa called me Vanessa, and it didn't matter that Santa reeked of beer. All that mattered to me was that I had seen Santa. And no one else did.

Sometimes I get up early and walk downstairs when it's still quite dark out on Christmas morning. I gaze at the tree and wonder, How could Santa be a fabrication, if I saw him ten years ago and even ate cookies with him?? Who is Vanessa? Would Santa be eligible for a DUI if he really was drinking that night?

Those are the true Christmas mysteries.