Published in the Ballston Journal December 16, 1998

With the season to be jolly just around the corner, I was rummaging through the little
back room in the garage just to see what kind of shape the boxes marked “Xmas” were in. The
family would soon be smelling turkey in the oven and other aromas too numerous to mention,
and with all the rush to come, I just wanted to start my favorite time of year in my own way
before schedules and necessities became mistaken for Christmas cheer.

All the boxes were in good shape, considering, and I found myself looking through the
very oldest of them, the ones with the broken ornament that belonged to a great aunt, cards from
friends no longer close, but never forgotten, the Mrs. Santa cookie jar too old for use, but too
respected to throw away, and of course, the snow sled made from Popsicle sticks by my now
seventeen-year-old, then only a second grader. As always it brought back many thoughts from
holidays long past.

And a smile from a holiday season when my seventeen-year-old was merely six.

Sarah was very excited at the prospect of seeing Santa Claus and telling him of all the
things she wanted to see under the tree. Mom and Dad followed the six-year-old through the
mall until they got to the record shop.

Sarah stopped quickly and stood completely still. Her eyes were as big as the bulbs we
had hung a few days earlier. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to
get it out. She just stared. Standing in the doorway of the record shop was Santa himself.

“Hello, Sarah!” he exclaimed.

Stunned silence was his only greeting. He knows me!

Then a whispered “Santa!” with all the awe of a six-year-old’s imagination.

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. He had a broad face and a little round
belly that shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right
jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

I truly did.

“Hello Santa!” said Dad with a giggle.

“Hello Mr. Reome, Mrs. Reome, how are you?” asked Santa himself.

Sarah’s eyes grew even larger. On my, he knows Mommy and Daddy!

Some ten years ago, in the small Clinton County town of Altona, tucked away in the
northeast corner of the state, known then for summer league baseball, Feinberg Park and RJ’s,
lived a rotund, jovial friend of mine, Rodney Nephew. Each year during the holiday season
Rodney would spread a little bit of Christmas joy to the less fortunate kids of the area in his own
special way. With a touch of white to color his beard and a natural build made for the familiar
red suit, he would become the favorite of the children in all of us, Santa Claus himself.

And on this special day, he created a Christmas memory for our family.

“And how is your baby brother Matt?” asked Santa himself as he looked back down at the
unmoving Sarah.

Oh my, he knows my brother too!

Santa himself continued to talk to Sarah as they stood together and Sarah’s need for
presents finally overcame her awe. She discussed her list and Santa himself listened with
undivided attention. Sarah was impressed and elated and excited and well, just everything as she
pulled at her coat and tried to get every word out as quick as possible!

“Good-bye Santa, have a Merry Christmas!” we all wished Santa himself on his way,
with Sarah the loudest.

“Good-bye Sarah, say hello to your little brother!” said Santa himself.

Mom and Dad continued to shop for a while. From the spirit of K-Mart to the grandeur
that was Montgomery Ward, Sarah retreated into reflective silence.

Mom and Dad stopped for lunch. Sarah ate without comment.

As they started home, Mom and Dad made conversation relating to the fact that Santa
knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you are awake, he knows if you’ve been bad or
good, so be good for goodness sake.

And with the same touch of wonder, from the backseat of the car, “And he even knows
Matt!”

I put the boxes back, just inside the door so they would be ready in a few days. I thought
of how things change and people go different ways. I wondered if Rodney still needed to add
color to his beard. We had kind of lost track of each other, with moves and jobs and such. But
Christmas comes every year memories and all. So lets all be good for goodness sake.

And to you Rodney, and Santa himself, a very Merry Christmas.