A Christmas Memory - Gianna’s Story

Gianna Marie Calarco-Medina 1998

It all started........

Well, ever since I can remember, Santa Claus was always a special guest at our house on Christmas Eve. Of course I don’t really remember the first time he appeared. After all, it was my first Christmas and I was only six months old. I can only recount the details of his first visit from stories I’ve heard from my Mom and photos that she and all my aunts seem to have. Each photo has one of the adult women in our family sitting on Santa’s lap. My favorite is the one with Santa hugging my Nana. I keep it in a frame on my dresser in my room. She looks so happy, it must have been exciting for everyone.

I still write to him a few times a year, just to keep in touch. He’s too busy to write back, but I always know he gets my letters. I just know.

From stories I’ve heard, my Papa (that’s what I call my maternal grandfather) wasn’t always a big fan of Christmas. In fact, the story goes that he had something called Holiday Depression Syndrome. Christmas carols were his downfall. He couldn’t listen to more than two chords before the tears would start. Most of the time he would just get really quiet, which is very rare for him. That’s not to say he didn’t have a great childhood. From all the stories I’ve heard, he did. He also seemed to always love the winter season. He just never had enough pleasant memories to carry him through the holidays. I heard it was pretty bad before I came along. But I can’t remember him ever being less than happy, jolly and even playful during the Christmas holidays of my youth.

Anyway, the story goes that all that stopped suddenly the year that I was born. Aside from the blessed event of my birth, it was also the first Christmas that Santa actually showed up at my Papa’s house too. He has never been the same since. Christmas has become one of his favorite holidays.

This story is about one very Special Christmas Memory. It was 1998. I am the oldest grandchild of Donald and Cynthia Calarco, first daughter of their youngest daughter Regina. My name is Gianna Marie Calarco-Medina. (not really, but Papa likes to see the hyphenated version in print) I’m six years old.

I was so busy with my letter to Santa Claus I didn’t realize a beautiful day was going to waste. It was mid October 1998 and the weather was beautiful. The adults kept calling it an El Nino winter, but I never bothered to find out what that meant. My Papa would have called it a good day for golf. I was lying on the floor bathed in the warmth of the Fall afternoon sun. Pen in hand and a pad of paper on the floor and as my Mom called out the letters to the words I wanted to say, I wrote the following:

Dear Santa

I always love when you come to my house. It makes me very happy. I like to get nice gifts. This year you brought me the baby brother I wanted. Thanks, his name is Richie. So far he’s a very good baby, so bring him something cute.

Do you remember when I saw you on Christmas morning? I was only three years old and I was hiding on the stairs with my Nana. You were running late and it was already Christmas morning. I was your last stop because you sometimes save the best for last. You looked so funny and jolly. You left me a present and I saw you eat the cookie and drink the milk.

You looked right into my eyes and you winked at me. Do you remember? You had rosy cheeks and little glasses on your cold nose. I will never forget that morning. You were in a hurry to see other boys and girls so you couldn’t stay. I woke my Papa up as soon as you left and he was very sad that he missed seeing you. I know when you come to our party on Christmas Eve you have to hurry too, but could you please stay a little longer this time. My Papa is always running an errand when you come to our house and he really would like to see you too. I’m not sure what I want for Christmas but I’m still thinking. I’ll write again soon.

Love Gianna

I folded my letter and put it into the envelope that I decorated a few hours earlier. I left it on the table for my Mom to check the spelling. We would put it in the mail-box as soon as the glue and glitter dries on the envelope. It had to be in the mail tonight, so Santa’s elves can open it tomorrow morning. . Hillary was playing in front of her house and my front door was opened so I could hear her calling me to play. Mom always said that Hillary was just a “little too grown up” for a six year-old, but I couldn’t tell, we were about the same size and I was just skinnier.

Hillary always talked like she was the boss of the world. But, she is my really good friend and we always have fun together.

My Papa always told me that all the stuff that happens in your life are just memories waiting to happen. This Christmas season sure made a memory that I will never forget.

“So, what are you going to ask Santa Claus for Christmas this year?”, I asked Hillary as we kicked off in unison for a few swings on her backyard set.

She jumped off her swing and stood right in front of me and caught the ropes still. With my skinny frame, I nearly flew out of the seat.

“Gianna”, she stared deeply into my eyes, the way only Hillary could. “there is no such thing as Santa Claus. It’s just someone in a costume, and if you write a letter to Santa Claus to ask for a toy, your mother buys it, wraps it and puts it under the tree when you are sleeping”.

I nearly exploded in defiance. “No, no Hillary, Santa Claus comes to my house for Christmas every year. I have pictures of him. I write letters to him. He’s real, he is.”

“Alright”, she said, as she grabbed my thin wrist and pulled me gently toward her back door. “Let’s just go ask my Mom”.

Now, keep in mind that this is all happening in a cute little community in Suburban USA, where every fifth house looks alike and the kids are all the same age. Just like in the movies.

Her Mom was always nice to me. I could never doubt her. She’s a Mom, like my Mom. She was standing in the kitchen, resting her hands on her belly. She was about to have Hillary’s little baby sister any day and she smiled as we walked in.

“Mom, Gianna believes in Santa Claus” Hillary announced, as she folded her arms across her chest. She looked like she was waiting for a good explanation.

Hillary’s Mom turned to me with a smile on her face. She looked like someone I could really trust. She folded her kitchen towel, sat in the chair closest to me, touched my cheek tenderly and said… “Gianna, honey, there’s no such thing as Santa Claus. That’s just a man in a costume and all the toys are bought by your parents and put under the tree when you are sleeping.”

I just stared at her for a few seconds and then I gasped. I couldn’t breathe very well. It felt like the whole room was closing in on me. I turned to look at Hillary and she had no expression. Her Mom was still smiling and I felt like I was moving in slow motion. I was trying to run out of the house. I had to get away, but it felt like my feet were made of lead.

I made it to the front door and I got my first breath of fresh air. My eyes were filling up with water and there was a pounding sound in the center of my chest. I felt like I was going to explode. I walked very fast and made it across the street and into my mother’s arms.

I was trying not to cry as I looked into my mother’s eyes. She had a frightful look on her face and she must have thought I had hurt myself playing. Had she betrayed me? Were Hillary and her Mom right? Did I just learn something that even my Papa doesn’t know about? Is this what little girls are supposed to learn at six years old. I was so confused. Through the tears, I told my Mom what had happened.

I remember my Mom walking over to Hillary’s house to talk to her Mom, but I never found out what she said. “Honey, some people believe and some people don’t”, was all that she could offer upon her return. She appeared to be in shock too.

Later that night I could hear her whispering to my Papa and Nana on the phone. She sounded very sad about something that must have happened that day, so she wasn’t paying much attention to me. By the sounds of it, my Papa was very angry with someone and he almost never gets angry.

About a week later it was Halloween and the episode seemed to have lost importance to my mother and father. No one said anything about it, not even my Nana or Papa.

It was another beautiful day and Papa was sitting on our porch as all the kids walked by to trick or treat at my house. A crowd of my friends we playing on my lawn, when I saw my opportunity to tell my Papa about the Santa situation.

The ball rolled toward him and I chased after it. He grabbed me to give me a hug and I turned to him and said quickly, “Papa, Hillary doesn’t believe in Santa Claus...her mother doesn’t either.”

He held me out so that I could see right into his dark eyes. “That’s really sad, I’m really sorry to hear that”. Then he let go of my arms and I ran off. It really must have been sad, because there was a little tear just starting to roll down the left side of his face as he said it. Sad! Why was it sad? What did he mean? What a surprise.....

The letter to Santa was still floating around my craft book. Mom didn’t mail it and I was glad she didn’t because it wouldn’t have gone to the North Pole anyway. How silly could I be to believe in Santa Claus when it’s just a fairy tale.

One Sunday afternoon, Mom took Richie and I to Nana and Papa’s house for the afternoon. I really wanted to find out what was bothering my Papa. He looked so sad since that night he spoke to Mom on the phone.

Mommy and Nana were playing goo-goo and gaa-gaa with Richie and I soft-stepped my way into Papa’s office, where I can always find him on a Sunday afternoon. I sneaked up behind him and put my hands over his eyes.

“Guess who?” I whispered. “Minny Mouse?” he asked.

“No, try again.” I squeaked. “The Alien, come to take me away?” he was wrong again.

“It’s me”, I giggled as he took me in his arms and gave me a Papa sized hug.

I had spent so many hours in this office. It had a lot of memories for me. I came home to this house when I was four days old and my Mom and I lived there with my Nana and Papa until I was five years old.

Papa taught me to be really quiet when the phone rings and not to use too many staples, because they get caught in the rug. I have my own section of office supplies on the second shelf of his supply closet. I can remember many times when Papa would tell me something and I would understand everything he said. He always taught me to ask for a definition if I didn’t understand a word.

We had a big dictionary and a big bookshelf filled with books that he would let me look at. I never tore a page in a book when I was little, because it makes angels cry. I’m not sure if I believe that, but I know my Papa does. That’s why he keeps his books real neat.

I was sitting in the guest chair facing him, as he pounded away at his keyboard. This was one of my favorite places in the whole world. Just the two of us...and I had a question!

“Papa?”, I broke his concentration.

“Yes baby”, he often called me baby, even though I am his oldest grandchild. “Why did you say it was sad about Hillary and her Mom?” I folded my book closed, expecting the long answers he is famous for.

He turned away from his computer screen to look at me. He folded his hands in the center of his desk and leaned a little forward. “Oh! I guess it’s sad because they are going to miss out on Santa Claus.”

“When you don’t believe in Santa Claus” he went on, “ it’s almost like not being able to smell flowers or hear birds sing...and that would be very, very sad. Imagine what it would be like if some people could smell flowers and some people couldn’t. What if you were one that couldn’t...that would be pretty sad.”

I had to ask. My Papa would tell me the right answer. “Is there a Santa Claus, Papa?”

It was that question that started a chain of events that could only happen in a movie. But it all happened and it was all real and it happened to me.

“Of course there is a Santa Claus” he laughed. “I write to him all the time, don’t you?”

“Yes, but” I wanted specifics. “Is it just a man in a costume like Hillary and her Mom says?”

My Papa’s cat, Mikey, jumped into my lap as I settled in for the story he was about to tell.

“If someone just puts on a Santa Claus costume and walks down the street, that would be a man in a costume. If someone puts on a Santa Claus costume and stands on the street corner ringing a bell, that’s just a man in a costume. But if someone puts on the Santa costume and has the Spirit of Christmas, I believe he could be the real Santa.

It all started with a man called Nicholas a long, long time ago. He was a priest in the old country in Europe. (Of course my Papa explained every word that I didn’t understand and the story got better)

Christmas was the favorite time of the year for Nicholas. He dressed in bright red clothes and he had a long white beard and long white hair. His favorite thing to do was to teach people, especially little children, about the Spirit of Christmas. Christmas is the celebration of the birthday of Jesus, and if you are a Christian, and even if you are not you should know from movies that when Jesus was born there were people that came to his poor manger to visit. They brought gifts for him. Some of them were precious gifts, like Frankincense and others were simple gifts like blankets to keep the little baby warm. Just being able to bring the gifts made them very happy and very, very special.

Nicholas started the practice of bringing gifts to people at Christmas to remember those who brought gifts to Jesus during the first Christmas and how happy it made them feel. He called this the Spirit of Christmas. The Spirit of Christmas is when you give something to someone instead of just worrying about what you were going to get.

Nicholas had the Spirit of Christmas better than any other person. He used to pack up his sled...yes he had a sled! He used to pack up his sled with toys and gifts for lots of kids and grown-ups too and he would go out on Christmas Eve to give them the gifts. It made them feel real good, but it made him feel even better, because he was the one giving the gift and that’s what makes Christmas so special.”

“Was he Santa Claus?”, I asked.

“We’re getting to that honey,” he said with a smile. I could see that Papa was enjoying his own story.

“Nicholas gave presents out for many, many years and he grew very, very old. Many, many people knew about him because he made them all so happy at Christmas.

Many years passed and when he died he became a saint (I learned about saints in CCD, so I didn’t even have to ask about that word) and they called him Saint Nicholas. In his country the language was different, so you would say Saint Nicholas...Sainta Niclaus, or Santa Niclaus, or Santa Claus.

When the next Christmas came after Saint Nicholas died, many of the people wanted to remember his good work and keep the Spirit of Christmas. They made beautiful red suits, just like his and they went around in their towns and found out what each person needed or wanted to make them happy at Christmas.

All those who wanted toys, got toys. All those who needed clothes, got clothes and all the ones who just wanted to be happy, got the Spirit of Christmas and gave gifts to others. It was wonderful.

As time went buy, more and more people wanted to have the Spirit of Christmas, but not all of them put on a Santa suit. So when you see someone in a Santa Claus suit it could certainly be just someone in a costume. In that case, Hillary and her Mom would be right. But, it could be the real Santa Claus, and for that to happen, you have to believe in the Spirit of Christmas first.”

I was sitting there with my jaw wide opened. I could see the goose bumps on Papa’s arms as he finished the story. Then he hit me with bigger news.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he whispered.

“Yes” I whispered back quietly.

“Do you know what I asked Santa for last year?” he leaned forward. I didn’t answer, I was fixed on his eyes.

“I want to have the Spirit of Christmas and hand out presents to people just like Saint Nicholas” He leaned back in his chair. “And I think I’m going to do it, but I’m going to need some help.”

“What kind of help?” I asked. It sounded like a job offer, but I wasn’t sure.

“Oh! I’m going to need an elf to help me with everything I do” he said, as he began to appear bigger in his chair.

“Do you have a Santa costume”, I asked, holding my breath for the answer.

“I sure do,” he said with a smile.

“What are you going to do with it” I understood the Saint Nicholas story, but what was my Papa going to do in a Santa costume. I couldn’t picture him sitting at the shopping center with hundreds of kids sitting on his lap for a picture.

“Well”, he said. “My friend Jan is having a Christmas party for some very special old people who still believe in Santa Claus, and I want to go there and give them all presents to make them happy and to make me happy too. Would you like to be my elf?”

“Do I get a costume?” I found myself asking.

What happened after that could only be explained as magic. He stood up and quietly took my hand and led me to the spare bedroom. We stood in front of the mirrored doors of the closet and he slowly slid the door open.

Hanging in the center of this almost empty closet was a large green garment bag, with a long zipper with a bell on it. It sure looked like something magical to me.

He turned, smiled at me and said “Are you ready?” I was!

He slowly pulled the zipper down making a steady creaking sound, and he settled the handle of the zipper at the bottom of the long green bag. I was excited. My heart was pounding. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew it would be wonderful.

As he drew back the sides of the bag I caught a glimpse of the brightest color red I had ever seen. White fur and leather boots and a big belt with a brass buckle. I had never been that close to a Santa suit before and Papa was beaming with pride.

“Did you ask Santa for this?” I asked.

“I did,” he said gladly “and I got what I wanted and now I have to use it.” He slid the zipper up much faster than before and he whisked me out of the room. “This is a big secret, Gianna. Bigger than anything we have ever shared before. Do you want to be my elf?” He looked really serious.

My answer got me one of the biggest hugs I’ve ever received. What a secret he was entrusting in me. The Magic Suit....

I had forgotten about Hillary and her disbelief for the moment and couldn’t wait to pick out my costume. Papa had promised that we would go shopping for it that same night.

As we came downstairs my Mom and Nana were wondering where I was. “We were upstairs, Papa was telling me a secret...oops!” I almost told the secret. “You can’t keep a secret from your Mom.” Mom said seriously.

I turned to Papa and pleaded, “we can’t keep a secret from my Mom, can we show her?” “OK!” he said reluctantly, but secrets are not for everyone.

I took my Mom by the hand and led her to the spare bedroom where Papa kept his suit. “Where are you taking me?” she asked as we stepped into the room. Papa stood with his hand on the zipper with the bell on it and I climbed up on the bed for a better look at her reaction.

“Are you ready?” Papa asked with that same smile. “Ready for what?” asked Mom.

Papa slowly pulled down the zipper till it rested at the bottom of the long green bag and he quickly pulled open the bag.

All of a sudden, my Mom fainted right onto the bed. Papa and I had to fan her to wake her up. She stood to her feet and said, “What happened? I don’t remember anything”

Papa pulled open the bag again and she went right down on the bed again. This time we had to fan her harder to get her to wake up. We were laughing.

She was kind of dizzy and we helped her walk downstairs where Nana was holding Richie. “What was all the noise upstairs?” Nana asked.

“Can we show Nana?” I begged. I was so excited I wanted to tell the world, but I knew it had to be a secret.

So, we took Nana upstairs, but this time Papa asked her to sit on the end of the bed, just in case she fainted on the floor. When he pulled open the bag, she fainted right back onto the bed.

Papa and I were laughing as we fanned her. The magic suit was ready. All we needed now was my elf costume and we’d be ready for the Spirit of Christmas.

I had been shopping with almost everyone in my family, but I had never been to a store like this. It was filled with costumes and lots of decorations for Christmas and other holidays.

Papa went right to the back of the store and started picking things out. First, he selected a pair of red and white, candy cane stockings. I checked them out and put them in our shopping cart. Next he found a pair of elf shoes that had to come direct from the North Pole. Only an elf could wear them. They were green with a curly toe and a tousle at the tip. We tried them on over my shoes and they were perfect.

Next came a pair of red suspenders, followed by a pair of elf glasses and of course the final item….the elf hat. It was green and red with bells all around and a long curly top with a bell at the tip. I was so excited.

When we got back home I did a try-on dress rehearsal for Mom and Nana and they said I was the cutest elf they ever saw. I looked in the big mirror in the front hall. I was pretty cute. They must have thought it was a Haloween costume.

Papa and I went upstairs and closed the door to the spare bedroom behind us and we packed each item into the green bag along with his Santa suit.

For the next few weeks, I would mark each day waiting for the 17th of December. An occasional call to Papa to remind him of how many days left, kept me focused on our task.

I found myself practicing an elf voice and thinking of Santa and Elf jokes that we could tell to make people laugh.

“Papa, what did Mrs. Claus say to Santa, as she looked out the window in April” I would rehearse.

“I don’t know, what?” he would answer dryly.

“Do you think it’s going to rain-dear” I would answer.

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Papa would say. He needed some work on his Ho! Ho! Ho! but I knew he would be ready for the big day.

One day, my Mom asked Papa to take me for the day and we spent some time together planning for our debut as Santa and his elf.

He had a few errands to run and I came along for the ride. Once in a lifetime....

I guess Papa knew that as long as I was going to be his elf, that he could take me places that most kids would see only in the movies.

We seemed to be driving quite a long time and I had never traveled this way before, so I was full of questions. We crossed some railroad tracks and came to a stop in the parking lot of a big brick building. Papa took my hand and we entered through a side door.

I asked him to read the sign over the door and he did. “Helping Hand Workshop” he said, as he kept pressing forward.

Workshop? What kind of workshop could this be. There were tall rows of boxes stacked almost to the ceiling. Each one had colorful labels of red, blue, green and yellow. There was Christmas music playing in Spanish and I could hear people talking and laughing.

As we came around the first corner I bumped in to this little man who was only a little taller than me. He was all hunched over and he had a beard that came to a point and a stocking cap on his head. He touched my nose and said, “Hello little one!” My jaw dropped.

“Papa, was that an elf?” I asked, almost shaking. “Oh! He could be” Papa answered.

The next turn took us deeper into the workshop where it seemed like hundreds of people were making the toys that were going into the boxes that were being stacked high to the ceiling. Row after row is was an assembly line of people. Some were in wheelchairs, some were smiling with big toothy smiles and thick eyeglasses and others looked too busy to look up as we walked past their workstations.

“Papa, is this the elf’s workshop?” I was still in shock.

“One of them.” he said, “Not all of Santa’s workshops are at the North Pole”

He took a sharp turn to the right and we bumped into another elf. This time it was a lady.

He called her Mary Beth and he introduced her to me. She shook my hand and said hello.

Her hand was warm, she had a red face and a few freckles and a really friendly smile. I knew from the moment I saw her, that she was real.

We climbed a very long and narrow stairway that had a single door at the top. When we entered, I had another shock. This room didn’t have any toys, but it was filled with clothes and things that adults would want for Christmas. There was a big computer and a lot of papers scattered all over a room with glass all around it. In front of the computer desk was a single chair with a red and green Christmas sweater hanging over the back. I was sure it belonged to Mary Beth. She came up the stairs with a few boxes and spoke to my Papa for a few minutes. I wandered into the room full of clothes, just to take a look.

“What is all this, Papa?” I asked innocently.

“These are all the gifts that people are going to receive after they order them for their friends, their wives, or husbands or parents. All these presents have to be packed up before Christmas Eve and Mary Beth is in charge.” he said as he inspected a long list that rolled onto the floor. How many kids had been here before me? How many kids even know this place existed? How many kids ever got this close to Santa’s workshop. Only in the movies, I thought.

My curiosity was getting the best of me, when I heard a phone ring. Papa motioned to button my lip, as Mary Beth answered on the speaker box. “LPGA Proshop, can I help you” she said, and I had no idea what that meant and I didn’t care.

“I’d like to order a gift for my wife”, came the voice on the other end of the phone. Mary Beth closed the door to the glass office and started typing on the keyboard.

I found myself in the center of the order department for Santa’s workshop. The lists were everywhere. Pinned to the walls, on clipboards and in stacks on the floor. If I could only read some of the bigger words. What a thrill!

Then it dawned on me. If this is where the adult gifts are, then maybe my Moms and Dads presents were here and I could see them.

“Do all these things belong to someone?”, I asked “They all belong to someone.” Mary Beth sung back. “Which one is my Moms?” I asked, hesitating.

Mary Beth grabbed a large clipboard and ran her finger over it. Then she walked along one of the aisles filled with boxes and picked up a pair of the cutest socks, with a little tousle on them. “These are for your Mom”, she said, and she handed them to me. “Wanna wrap em up?” she squeaked with a smile. Did I ever!

“Is there one”.... Before I could ask, she was at the other side of the room pulling something out of a large box. “Here’s your Dad’s, wanna pick it out” She held up two golf caps and asked which color I liked. I picked a dark grey.

So picture this, I’m standing in the packing room of Santa’s workshop, I just picked out my father’s gift from Santa and I get to wrap it up and address it.

To: Daddy Medina From: Santa Don’t open till Christmas.

I wrapped Mom’s too. Wow! Mary Beth even let me put the blue sticker on the package. Then she handed them both back to me and said “These two, you can deliver yourself.”

I had to start pinching myself to see if I was dreaming. As we walked down the stairs, carrying the two gifts, the phone started to ring and Mary Beth went back to her work.

When we opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, the room was filled with workers. Some of them were elves and some were not, but all of them said hello to my Papa. Some of them waived to me. I waived back and smiled. I knew that I might be the only kid that ever came here.

The big day was getting closer and closer. I had never paid such attention to a calendar as I did that month. I would call my Papa on the phone and leave a voice message. “Ten more days, Papa”...Five more days, Papa.”

The day finally came and it had a special meaning because it was also my Christmas Pageant day. Nana and Papa came with my Mom and my little brother Richie to hear me sing. It was the morning show. The plan was that right after my class sings, Papa would sign me out of school and we would go home and get dressed for the Christmas party.

I was anxious, nervous, but ready as ever. Nothing could keep me from the Christmas Spirit that day. Papa helped me get dressed into my elf costume and Mom and Nana took pictures. We took turns putting the final touches on our make-up, just before having lunch.

I had taken a special Santa Claus book out of the library for Papa to see and we found a great elf name for me...Jingles the Elf. It was perfect.

Papa had some trouble getting his suit on and I had to help. He didn’t know how to put on the boots, so I showed him how. He also found out that the coat had a zipper and he couldn’t see past his big belly, so I helped him with that too.

The funniest part was when he put on the wig. It was backward and we both started laughing real hard. It was his first time being Santa Claus and I really wanted him to look good. I ran his big leather belt through the loops in his coat and he was almost complete. He had everything on except his hat.

He was still having trouble with his Ho! Ho! Ho’s, but as soon as he put on the hat...it was perfect. “ Ho! Ho! Ho!” he bellowed and laughed just like I always heard Santa laugh.

He bent down and kissed me on the cheek. His beard and hair was a little itchy. He whispered, “I think I have the Christmas Spirit”

“Me too” I whispered back as I gave him a hug around his big belly. The ride of a lifetime...

I used to dream about what it would be like to ride in the sleigh with Santa Claus and his reindeer. I never thought that a Nissan Maxima would bring the same pleasure.

We exited the house through the garage and got in to Papa’s car. He strapped me into a seat belt, but not before propping me up on the armrest in the back seat so I could see. I was right behind him as we drove. Looking from the back seat, it was Santa Claus driving the car...and it was Papa’s eyes in the rear view mirror, smiling and winking at me.

Then is started, people everywhere started waving at us. Truck drivers were honking their horns. Workers on the highway took off their hats and waved. Almost every car that passed us looked in and smiled and waved to Santa and me.

I noticed that not everyone was waving. Some people looked at us like we weren’t even there.

“Papa, why didn’t that lady wave?” I asked, worried that she may not have noticed us.

“Remember, Gianna, some people believe in Santa Claus and some people don’t. That doesn’t mean that they are wrong. It just means that they just don’t see us.” Papa was reminding me.

“And that’s sad, right?” I chimed in.

“Yes, and it’s OK too, but look how much fun we can have with the ones that do believe”, he said as a crowd of people on a street corner started waving to him and pointing at me.

We pulled into the parking lot of the Woodridge Recreation Center and it was nearly filled with cars. Papa made some last minute adjustments to his suit and he turned to me. “Are you ready for the best feeling of your life?”

“I sure am”, I said with confidence as he scooped me out of the back seat and planted me down in front of him.

He handed me my bells and we made our entrance dragging a wagon filled with presents, that Papa’s friend Jan had prepared before we arrived. The room was filled with people. I wanted to count them all, but I was too busy. Papa came in with one of the best Ho! Ho! Ho’s I have ever heard. From the second we walked in, I felt like an elf and I knew my Papa was having a great time. Everyone wanted to touch me and talk to me. Papa was walking around the room shaking hands and saying hello to everyone and I was on the other side getting some hugs.

Papa dragged the wagon to my side of the room and we started handing out presents, as the Sweet Adeline’s sang Christmas Carols in four-part harmony. Papa would pull the wagon up to a table and I would select the gift. I looked in to each person’s eyes and asked, “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Yes I do sweetie,” the ladies would say. “I sure do, cutie” the old men would say.

Each one smiled at me and said, “Thank you very much.” I was finding out what Papa meant about feeling good when giving a present. I had the Spirit of Christmas and it really made me feel very good inside.

Then Santa stopped at one of the last tables and he introduced me to a man named Burt. “Jingles, this is my friend Burt Meyer. He’s the only person I know in the whole world who went to the North Pole.” He said with a jolly laugh.

Burt was an older man with white hair and it was very long, which he wore in a pony tail He also had a very nice, smiling face.

“Did you really go to the North Pole, I asked Mr. Meyer. “I sure did, Jingles” he answered.

“Did you knock on the door?” I asked again. “Nope, I never found the house, but I found the pole...it’s there all right.” he said laughing.

“Do you believe in Santa Claus?” I asked for the last time. “I sure do” he said as he tweaked my nose.

As we waved goodbye, all the people were clapping and cheering for us and I knew it made my Papa feel good.

We even stopped at a nursery school to visit some little kids, but they were afraid of Santa. They all wanted to take a picture with Jingles the elf and they did.

The drive home was as much fun as the drive to the party. Almost every one waved and cheered as we drove by. Some believed and some didn’t.... and that’s OK.

As we slowly packed the costumes into the green garment bag. I looked up at Papa and smiled. He was very quiet, but I could see he was happy.

“Papa”, I said “Hillary doesn’t know what she is missing.” and I gave him another hug to thank him for choosing me as his elf. Now, I’m ready to fly whenever he is.

I sent my letter to Santa Claus and I asked for a toy that I really want. If Papa gets his wish this year, he’ll be Santa for our own family party. No one will know but me and I’m really happy about that. There may be a lot of Santa’s in the world but my Papa is my favorite. He has the Spirit of Christmas.

Do you believe in Santa Claus? I do, and I always will.

Gianna Marie Medina December, 1998