Though I retired from my seasonal work as a professional Santa for a couple years now since losing my extra 45 pounds at the demand of my doctor, I accepted the plea for one last gig at a Christmas party before hanging up the suit for good. Adriana was all of seven years old with the soul of a young lady four times her age. On my lap, she looked me in the eye. No video games, no doll or ball, no wish for a surprise to unwrap Christmas morning. She was teary-eyed as she struggled to whisper her wish to this old man in a fake red suit and beard who thought he’d heard it all before. “Santa, I believe in you and I know you can do miracles. Will you please give homes to all the homeless people for Christmas?”
It was no coincidence that this was the very last wish I was to be asked as a Santa and truly, the only one I could grant with confidence, assurance and happy tears. I gave her my word and hugged her before she returned to her parents. She had no idea that after the suit is packed away, that’s precisely what this Santa does the other eleven months a year. I wish I’d had opportunity to meet her parents who’d taught her so well what Christmas is really all about.