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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It happens every year around this time…when I place upon my head…my old Christmas stocking cap…which happens to be red. Some children passing by with their parents will look at me and pause… “Mom! Dad! Look!” They’ll point. “I think it’s Santa Claus.” It happened in the bookstore the other day… “Look! it’s Santa!” A young boy said, “That’s him behind the mask.” After looking at me and smiling… “What makes you think he’s Santa?” The father asked. “Well…he has a white beard and he’s wearing a stocking cap so his head…it won’t get cold. I smiled and waved until he came out with this zinger… “Oh, and Santa’s old.” Old! He called me old! I felt my knees buckle and go weak…he didn’t mention jolly…and what about my rosy cheeks? ?The father said, “He’s not the real Santa….but that was very perceptive of you.” I smiled, waved and said Merry Christmas…because that’s what old Santa’s do. I had a chance to assess myself in the mirror as I closed the store for the night…white beard…red stocking cap…old…that little boy was right! Still…I love days like this…when I get to hear the innocence of children speak…it is what makes me jolly…what puts the rosy in my cheeks. I’ve been blessed to be called many names in my life…to wear a host of hats upon my top…son, brother, friend, husband, dad, teacher and PopPop. Different people calling me different names that peacefully co-exist… and for a few weeks around Christmas every year I’m blessed to add Santa to this list.
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