Santa Claus writes down some of the most heartbreaking or heartwrenching Christmas requests he has ever received.
I have had much joy in granting wishes to my dear little children, and I have enjoyed my tenure as Santa Claus very much; but some of the wishes I have gotten are things that not even I, the Jolly Old Elf, can fix (although I wish I COULD!). Things like homelessness, abuse from family members or strangers, sickness/disease, alcoholism, drug use, or lacking money and not being able to afford gifts, let alone, a simple Christmas tree.
I remember one such little lady who touched my heart the first time I saw her. She was maybe eight or so, small for her age, and very cute. She was walking with the help of crutches and leg braces, and I could tell that each step she took caused her pain. I don't know exactly what she had, but it affected her joints, and I could tell that she was suffering. When she came to me that day several years back, she put her crutches down on the floor, got onto my lap, and looked at me in the eye and said in a matter-of-fact, direct manner, "All I want for Christmas is to stop hurting. All I want is one day without pain."
Another time, also several years back, a little fellow with rosy, apple cheeks and a shock of messy, white-blonde hair and huge bright blue eyes, came up to me. He was also small for his age and was another little cutie. He was in a wheelchair, and I remember that he had been directly behind the little girl mentioned earlier. I don't know if they were friends, classmates, or even brother or sister; but they were standing together in line. Well, the little fellow rolled his chair up to where I was, and his mother gently lifted him out and placed him onto my lap; and the little fellow stuck his face close to mine (so he could see me better; it turned out that this tragic little fellow was multiply handicapped), and he said that he didn't want anything for Christmas. He said that he already had enough toys to keep him busy, and instead, he wanted me to help those kids who didn't have much in the way of money, clothes, toys, or whatever. He also said that he was dying of a muscular disorder (he said he had muscular dystrophy), and so he didn't know that if he would even have another Christmas. He said he didn't want anything for Christmas because he didn't know if he had enough time to enjoy his new toys.
I tell you, you never saw Santa cry as hard as he did then. I tried my best not to cry in front of the little boy or girl (or any of the other little angels I saw that day, or in times since), but once I got out of my suit and took a break so I could eat, I cried my eyes out. I tried my best not to cry, but the tears started in spite of themselves, and I was an emotional wreck.
Some of the other heartbreaking cases I heard was that of a little boy named Roy who wanted to have his parents back together (the little fellow couldn't have been more than two years old at the time), a little girl named Magdelena who wanted her big sister to stop using drugs and to come back home to the family, a tough little guy who wanted his brother to drop out of a dangerous gang (I can't recall his name, but I will never forget the hatred that spewed forth from his mean-looking eyes; and if that were not bad enough, the little fellow kicked me hard in the shins and called me some name that I dare not repeat; but it made my mouth drop open in horror; it was truly nasty, one of the nastiest things I had ever heard come from a little one's mouth), a little girl named Pearl who had a mother dying of AIDS and all she wanted was for her to be alive for Christmas, so they could be together one last time before her mother died, a little Hispanic boy who spoke only Spanish, but, through an interpreter, he told me that all he wanted for Christmas was a home for himself and his thirteen brothers and sisters and his parents (it turned out that his house had burnt down only a few months earlier because of an arsonist's cruel trick; the family was presently living at a crowded homeless shelter), and a young teenaged girl who was mentally handicapped who wanted a new kitty after the kitty she had was cruelly tortured and then burned alive by nasty-tempered kids who had nothing better to do than to make this young lady's life a brutal hell. I also had a little boy named Mikey who had lost his daddy in the terror attacks of September 11, 2001, and all he wanted was his daddy to come back to him, so he could be home for Christmas.
Ever since, I have been trying to figure out how to answer requests such as these, or how to tell these kids that there are some things that not even Santa can fix; but I am afraid of crushing their tender young spirits because they are all so trusting and innocent, and they all believe in Santa. To them, Santa can do no wrong; and Santa can fix ANYTHING. But in reality, Santa CAN'T. Santa is as human as these little ones; there are just some things that can't be repaired short of a Miracle. But HOW to tell these kids this eats at the very core of my being, and it causes me much heartache and grief, and it causes me to lose sleep at night. (It also doesn't help with the northern lights glowing brightly in the sky; that can wake me up too, especially if they get brighter than usual.)
So Santa Claus DOES cry, and now you know why. I also cry because the very spirit of Christmas has been replaced by greed and hatred, and Christmases now are NOTHING compared to Christmases of old. The Christmases of old were so full of love, joy, goodwill towards men, hope, and peace; now, Christmas is nothing but a jumbled, overcommercialized, greedy, hate-filled MESS. I don't know why people have become so self-centered or greedy in nature, and when I think of the wishes of the dear children I see each and every year, particularly those dear little ones who are hurting, sick, or destitute, my spirit is stabbed, and then people (my beloved mama and my elves, who are my closest companions) wonder why my attitude has gone downhill. It's like the very spirit of Christmas, and the TRUE meaning of the holiday..the Birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ..has all but been obliberated.
Well, dear Diary, I must close now. I have to wipe my eyes; can't see due to all the tears that are running down my cheeks. I have to think of a way to make it up to those children whose needs are the greatest and also try to fulfill the wishes of greedy little cusses who know absolutely nothing about what Christmas is all about. (I would LOVE to leave a lump of coal in their stockings, but their mummies and daddies won't have it; all they care about is getting the biggest, brightest, most expensive toys that money can buy! So, as much as I am dead set against it, I HAVE to comply, or I may get sued or worse; and I am sure you DON'T want to read about THAT come Christmas Day morning!)
Will write again when I am feeling more like myself; can't continue, as I am too upset...
~Santa Claus. (Written Saturday, November 29, 2003, 4:12 p.m., NORTH POLE)
Your story iswell-written and the message is so clear! I will print this out and share it with my fourth grade students, whose hearts are so big and warm! Thanks,
Karen, excellent, I hate to say which category I was in when I was a kid, god was I a brat! Anyway, thanks for the tears, like I need them this time of year...LOL! Peace, Ed & Rufuz
*tears* o, my, does santa cry? you bet...o, this one made me get a lump the size of texas in my throat...poignant and heartbreaking story. well done, karen--a keeper
A short story of mine was included in an anthology of short fiction by fourteen of Port Town Publishing Company's authors. It is out of print and no longer available except as a download. Contact me at charlenetess@yahoo.com if you want it.
I have had much joy in granting wishes to my dear little children, and I have enjoyed my tenure as Santa Claus very much; but some of the wishes I have gotten are things that not even I, the Jolly Old Elf, can fix (although I wish I COULD!). Things like homelessness, abuse from family members or strangers, sickness/disease, alcoholism, drug use, or lacking money and not being able to afford gifts, let alone, a simple Christmas tree.
