SANTA CLAUS

We lived in the brown-shingle house, on a small rise, in a working-class neighborhood.

I investigated the basement one day for a ball and found my toys floating in thigh-deep, dark water.

They were older toys. I am mostly curious about the water. How will it go away? Do we need to work to remove it, or will it drain?

I don’t much like Mike next door. He’s snooty like his Mom. I spy him angling over to see what I’m looking at.

“Santa will bring some toys," I say.

“You’re a baby. There’s no Santa Claus.”

“Yes, there is. Why would you say that?”

“Cuz, my Mom told me so.”

I can’t help but wonder why any Mom would say such a thing. I had my suspicions but wasn’t ready.

“Take it back or I’m going to punch you.”

“Big baby. BIG BABY!” he shouts, so I tackle him, get on top and punch him in the mouth. (these things were normal when I was a kid)

Suddenly, he’s gagging and wriggling to get up, crying loud.

“My tooth, my tooth?” You knocked out my tooth!”

“Mom … MOM, Scotty knocked out my tooth!” as he runs toward his tidy, white house, his Mom leans out the back-screen door, glaring at me.

Turns out, I’ve knocked a cap off one of his front teeth. I guess my parents had to pay for the tooth. I’ve always felt guilty for that.

What has stood out all these years though, is, “There IS no Santa Claus.”

Seems like my general disappointment began there.

Though Christmas was still a special time, there was always a foreboding undertow.

Would Mom be happy or sad?

Either way, I recall those Christmas mornings of dawn misty light, peeking into the living room at the silhouettes, trying to make out the gifts they had arranged there.

A bicycle, a set of pearl blue Slingerland drums …

We didn’t have a surplus of money so the fact they did this etched deep in my soul. I thought of them working day in and day out. I thought of Dad’s horrible wreck and Mom hurrying every morning in high heels to catch a bus to work downtown.

Maybe no jolly guy was coming down the chimney, but there was that whispering in the night. There were the cookies and milk we continued to leave out because my brother was still a little kid. Still,  every time I spied that half-drank glass of milk and cookie crumbs on my Grandma’s old white saucer, I felt him close, like a soft, red blanket of love.

When I was older we had twins and the fantasy began again. We told them in the early years,

“As long as you believe, there is a Santa Claus. It’s those who stop believing that lose him.”

I’ve always felt bad about knocking out part of Mike’s tooth.

 The thing is …  I’ve always felt a lot
worse that his Mom told him there was no Santa Claus. 

THE ARC OF JUSTICE

  

Yesterday was Martin Luther King Jr. Day. My wife and I had gone to the Y the day before to work out. Things were slow. Some of the staff were gathered in the foyer. They were all people of color. Most were chatting. Posters and old newspaper clippings of Dr. King were taped all around.

When leaving I couldn’t help but share;

“Years ago, I sat with 42 others listening to a man give a lecture titled, The Love of All Mankind. It was about Dr. King's life and teachings. When he finished, 42 people sat drenched in tears. God bless Dr. King.”

“Praise God,” I heard one say.

The next day, at work, we were finishing a deal with a couple from Belarus. Their accents were heavy. I asked how things were at home.

“Well, you know our leader is good friends with Putin so things are not good,” the lady said.

“Did you come here to escape? “I asked.

“Not so much. My husband has a degree in engineering but there was no work. Here, we are needed.”

I am a used car dealer. Last Saturday we were near closing. A family of a Mom, Dad, and 19-year-old son came in at closing time.  We managed to connect, and they bought the car. I had to run back into the office to get a different screwdriver to put the license plate on.  Jogging back, I saw them in a group hug. They were all crying.

“Darn, ya’ll gonna make ME cry.”I said. 

After the tag was on each one of them reached to give me a tearful hug. It was the young man’s first car. He was going to drive himself to work for the first time.

“Thank you for God’s presence,” I said.

I quote from Dr. King; “Love is the greatest force in the universe., it is the heartbeat of the moral cosmos. He who loves is a participant on the being of God.”

I’m a salty old cuss. I grew up during Jim Crow. I saw signs above bathrooms at an amusement park, “Coloreds … Whites.” We used words that I won’t use now. We had race riots in high school. I didn’t know any people of color until I joined the Navy during Nam. There were problems there that we ironed out on our own. It got ugly. Then it got better.

I’d have told you things had gotten better and still believe they have for the most part, but I can’t help but read between the lines and feel like that old hate is rearing its head.  

That doesn’t mean we have to buy into it. I do business and associate with folks of all colors and backgrounds. Everyone wants food on the table, a roof over their head, a future for their children and to be needed.

As it turns out, I think Dr King said it best … “The arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.”

It’s up to us how long it takes to get there. It is up to America to remain a beacon on a hill. It is up to us to live a life of love and honor, courage and truth.

 If not us then who?