Gather ‘round for a heartwarming holiday tale

STEVE SMITH

She was born early.

“God couldn’t wait to deliver her to me,” her mother would say.

Years later, her small size and low weight would force her to play

catch-up with other girls her age, but her heart was always big.

Her mom, always looking at the half-full glass, used size to her

daughter’s advantage.

“You’re a pixie,” she told her. “And everyone loves pixies.”

The nickname stuck. Before she entered school, it was clear to her

parents that Pixie was special.

Not just in a book-smart way -- although she was that too -- but

in a way that caused her to notice things: to see, not merely to

look.

“Perceptive” was the best word they could find to describe her.

And so it was, at five years old -- while Pixie and her mom were

driving to a local homeless shelter to deliver toys and clothes to

the families there -- that the question most feared by parents was

asked.

“Mommy, is there really a Santa Claus?”

Pixie’s mom, Caroline, was seven in 1962 when she first wondered

the same thing. Two days before Christmas, she woke up at 1 a.m. and

found her parents in the kitchen, wrapping gifts for her aunts,

uncles and cousins.

“They’re just some extra things we want them to have,” her mom

said.

Satisfied, she wandered back to bed.

Seven years later, the nation was at war. Caroline had been

reading the newspaper regularly for two years and knew that the world

was troubled. People were dying and there was no sign of an end to

the war, no plan that provided hope. Lots of people were marching in

the streets, creating another war -- this one of words -- at home.

There was no peace on Earth.

“Are these people naughty or nice?” she wondered.

At 14, she began to question many of the absolutes she had been

taught.

Two years later, just before Thanksgiving, her father passed away.

That Christmas, while she briefly questioned her faith and the

justice in taking her father, she did not question the existence of

Santa Claus. Santa was always there, always delivering the same

message of unconditional joy and peace, always making sure everyone

understood that when all was said and done, each glass was half full.

In college, at a Christmas Eve gathering, Caroline met Jack. They

talked for hours that night, the kind of conversation when everything

and everyone around you seems to disappear. The kind of kind of

conversation each had waited for years to have, saving it for just

the right person at just the right time. He loved her eyes and her

inner strength. She loved his easiness, his ability to let the little

things go.

The next day, Christmas Day, Jack used the rest of the December

allowance from his parents to buy Caroline a dozen roses, as white as

the snow on her lawn. They were in full bloom as she took the card

from the bouquet, her heart beating through her chest.

Three years later to the day they met, they were married.

Their life in those early years was not easy, but they treasured

the times they had together, even if they had few material

possessions to show for their labor. Each Christmas brought the same

warning: “Don’t get me anything this year.”

Each year, presents appeared under their tree, always from Santa.

Time brought them a measure of prosperity but nothing matched

Santa’s gift one Christmas Day. Pixie, due to arrive a month later,

was placed in Caroline’s arms as Jack beamed.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, she whispered, “I’m so happy.”

Jack was happy too, but he couldn’t speak for choking back his own

tears. This was his dream come true.

Now, in the car on the way to the shelter, Caroline faced the

moment of truth with Pixie.

“Mommy, did you hear me? I said, ‘Is there really a Santa Claus?’”

In that moment, Caroline saw her parents in the kitchen. She saw

Jack at her house on Christmas Eve many years ago. She remembered the

whitest roses ever grown and delivered that Christmas Day. She saw

the short but magical years with her father. She saw how, through the

years, the joy of Santa Claus and the message of “peace on Earth” had

pulled her through so many tough times.

Then she saw a hospital room on Christmas Day and a tiny baby --

the most beautiful baby ever created -- asleep in her arms. “Yes,

baby, there really is a Santa Claus” she replied. “And he just gets

better with age.”