Yes, I saw Santa!

     I saw Santa Claus. Oh yes, I did. He was tall but portly and he moved slowly but smoothly so that you really didn’t know if he had moved at all …

     See, it happened this way, on Christmas Eve, many years ago.

     I had gone to bed after being read a story, sitting on Mom’s lap. Dad was sitting nearby, listening and nodding and sometimes smiling. I don’t remember the story, but since it was Christmas Eve, it probably had something to do with that. What stories tell about Christmas Eve, after all? “Rudolph” hadn’t been written yet. It surely wasn’t “A Christmas Carol.” That is much too long, and beyond my, I’m sure, tender years (I mean, I was sitting on my mother’s lap, for Pete’s sake.) It was probably ”A Visit From Saint Nicholas,” which we kids all knew as “ ‘T’was the Night Before Christmas.”

     The story no doubt set the scene for my dreams and, ultimately, my vision of Santa Claus. Did I say “vision”? I meant, “Sighting.” That was no vision, no figment of fancy. I saw Santa, I tell you!

     My bedroom door opened to what was the dining/family room in that tenement apartment where we lived back then – 27 Felton Street, as I recall. Beyond that room was the parlor, the front room that looked out onto the street and from which a door led you to a small hall and the stairs to the second floor, and to the front door that opened onto the front porch.

     Since we had no chimney, that was how Santa would come with his presents, my Dad explained – up the front stairs, across the porch, through the front door and into the parlor, where Dad had placed our Christmas tree.

     The head of my bed was up against the wall to your left as you entered my room. That meant that I could see out the bedroom door and into the parlor while lying in bed. Which is what I planned to do when I went to bed, so I could see Santa deliver my presents.

     I was going to stay awake all night, or as late as I needed to, so I could see Santa. That was my plan. Reality has an inconvenient way of interfering with our plans, though. So I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow, I’m sure.

     But before I fell asleep, I looked out into the parlor to be sure I had a good view, and I could see clearly almost the entire room, just the part on the left, behind the doorway – those parlors had large, glass-paned  doors to separate them from the dining/living room, for privacy – being out of sight. But that was enough of the room to assure me Santa could not be there without my seeing him. I mean, I could seer most of the Christmas tree, and that’s where Santa had to go with the presents, didn’t he?

     I slept soundly, as most young children do, so I didn’t have any idea what others – my parents, specifically – were up to. And I’m sure I dreamed, although I don’t have any memories of whatever I might have dreamed. But whatever it was, it woke me. You know how you’re having a dream, and the dream morphs into consciousness? That’s what happened.

     And that’s when I saw Santa Claus.

     Half awake, I looked out through my bedroom door and saw this tall, portly figure hovering just beyond our Christmas tree. I couldn’t see what he was doing. As I already told you, he moved slowly but smoothly, almost imperceptibly, as  he went about his happy business. He was setting up something, perhaps putting something down, or maybe arranging packages; I couldn’t tell.

     But Santa was definitely there. It was not quite dark – perhaps it was the hour or minutes before daylight, I don’t know – but I could see him almost clearly enough to make out his features, his nose, his cap, his beard. I saw Santa Claus!

     I didn’t dare make a sound or a movement. I was afraid to let him know I had seen him. So I lay quite still, breathing shallowly and evenly, and, sure enough, in a few moments, fell back asleep.

     You know how even the most vivid dream fades so quickly when you wake up? This sighting didn’t; that’s how I know it wasn’t a dream. Heck, I can still picture what I saw, these seventy or so years later.

     No, that was no dream. I saw Santa Claus!

     Morning came. And with daylight, I truly saw Santa Claus – that is, at last saw him for what he is: a spirit that spins itself around reality to fulfill our fantasies and fondest hopes, or perhaps wishes.

     Daylight showed that the figure I saw at work in our parlor was a tent.

     Mom and Dad had bought me a tent – a caravan style tent like those you would see in a desert oasis, with a pyramidal top and four equal sides. To surprise me, Dad had put up the tent as best be could in our parlor, so it stood there, tall and, well, portly in my view, just beyond our Christmas tree. You know how, when you stare at something intently enough it can seem to move? That’s why I saw Santa moving slowly but so smoothly and deliberately as he brought my toys.

     So I stood there in the parlor, gaping at my tent. Mom and Dad would never have guessed what was going through my head as I stared. But the no-doubt expected whoop of delight never came. It couldn’t. I was going through the inevitable process of disenchantment, of facing reality … of growing up. But that process (was it painful? I don’t know. Probably  not) could not take from me this one crucial fact of my life as it was, and still is.

     I really and truly saw Santa Claus!