It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The other day we put the kids in the car after supper and we drove them through the twinkling streets of uptown New Orleans to marvel at the lights.  We pointed out the magnificent displays – There’s Santa, Jack, riding a rocking horse – do you see him?  See Liam?  The red lights on the tree there?  Wow, do you guys see the polar bears in the snow?  Jack, who learned about families in general and the Baby Jesus’s family in particular at school this past week, would have parked forever in front of the house with the light-up creche.  He pointed out every figure – Baby Jesus’s Mama, Baby Jesus’s Dada, Baby Jesus’s Horse (a camel, actually), Baby Jesus’s Angel, Baby Jesus’s Dog With The Hat On.  (There was a white wicker dog with a Santa hat in another spot of the yard, which Jack has now indelibly added to my mental picture of the Biblical scene at the manger.) As we drove, Liam pointed out the windows, our excited little lisping tour guide: “WIGHTS!  SEEUM?  WIGHTS!  TWEES!  SEEUM?  WOOOOOOOOOW.”  Afterwards we went for ice cream, because Christmas though it may be, it is also seventy degrees down here.  The snow on the uptown yards was no less magical to my children for being fake.  I love the owners of all of these houses, for making the effort.

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Today Liam was with his nanny, but Jack was out of school, so he tagged along on a few last minute Christmas errands.  We walked from our house towards the post office, to mail a few textbooks that I just sold on Amazon, and on our way we passed an 8 foot tall inflatable Santa holding a blue present with a purple bow.  Jack stopped and proceeded to carry on a very polite conversation with him.  Several passersby glanced and giggled at my darling son, carrying on an earnest conversation with a giant balloon.  I finally dragged Jack away, him hollering Merry Christmas and a Ho Ho Ho at the Santa, while I promised we’d see him again soon.

We walked another block to the post office.  In we went and got in line.  There was a box on the ground that was considerably bigger than Jack, and we bided some time trying to guess what was in it.  We decided it must be an elephant, and then Jack tried to peer into a small untaped crack in the side in order to see the elephant, and possibly feed it mini candy canes from the complimentary pile in a bowl by the door.

And then the man in front of us turned around to reveal a long, full, very white beard.

The beard was like a tractor beam for Jack’s eyes.  He stared, openly, open-mouthed, and my heart stopped for a moment.  I didn’t know what the guy would do in response to my kid’s clear attention, but golly if he rejected Jack I just didn’t know how I would explain it.

Jack stared, I held my breath, the Santa-guy looked down at my marveling son . . . and then he leaned over and whispered “it’s real.  You can pull it if you like.”  Jack, totally in awe, was unable to speak a reply, but he did reach two little boy hands up and gave the beard a little tug, before scurrying behind my back to peep at old Kris Kringle from behind the safety of mama’s bulk.  The lovely man spent the rest of our wait alternating between small talk with me, and Playing Santa for Jack.  I got the sense that it isn’t a role he particularly enjoys, but he told me he had four kids of his own, all long grown up now, and he remembers the days when Santa was so special.  I tell you, if it was proper to gather up an unfamiliar grown man in my arms and give him a grateful hug, I would have.

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We didn’t teach Liam this, but every night as he is being carried to bed, he includes the Christmas tree in his evening Good-Nights.  Night-Night Mama, he says, giving me a big MUAH of a kiss.  Night-Night Jack [night-night Liam!]  Night-Night Dada, Night-Night Budgil [Virgil].

Night-Night, Twee.  Night-Night, Wights.