The Real Santa Claus

It was Christmas Eve and growing late; This was the last of his paid Santa dates. Still dressed in his red Santa gear, He stepped inside to have a beer. One pint soon turned into two, Then half a dozen before the hour was through. Nobody was waiting at home for him, So he chased the beer with three shots of gin. He stumbled outside the neighborhood bar; His one bedroom apartment was not too far. He started walking on unstable feet, When a father and a young daughter he happened to meet. “I wonder, Santa, if you can help us out; My little Sarah is starting to have some doubt. She told me tonight in her hospital bed, That she thinks Christmas and Santa both are dead.” “I snuck her out of her hospital room; We were really lucky to find you so soon. Could you please give her just one good reason To still believe in the holiday season?” He took a deep breadth of the cold winter air; Even drunk he could feel the father’s despair. He simply put his finger to the side of his nose And let out three hardy, “Ho, ho, ho’s”. “If you’re the real Santa,” she challenged him, “Then what is my Christmas wish?” “If he’s the real Santa,” she said to her Dad, “He could give me my Christmas gift.” Charlie looked at the father for a clue He shrugged, not knowing what to say, Somehow in an instant Charlie knew And he answered Sarah in this way: “You didn’t wish for toys or other things, The way other kids do when they come to my place. You just want your father to look at you Without a sad look upon his face.” She turned to her father and said through tears, “I’m sorry Dad, I didn’t mean to make you sad. But you really did find me Santa Claus, This is the best Christmas I ever had.” Charlie turned to the father and softly said, “Now, I think it’s time you take her back. Either way, things are going to be okay, You need to accept that as a matter of fact.” Charlie was left standing all alone, As snowflakes started to fall. In his loudest voice he shouted out, “Merry Christmas and Good-night to all.”