It had been one of those kinds of days.
You know the kind. The one where you trudge on and do what you have to do. You’re tired and can barely go one more step. You have lots to do, but little time to do it. You need some sleep or a nap at least, but there’s no time for that.
You finally take a break.
I had taken my break and headed out to a little diner I like to frequent. I can get some fried chicken there and they bake up chocolate chip cookies the way God intended. They don’t pre-package them to make them tasteless. No, these are like they came straight out of the oven.
I sat down in a booth and started people watching while waiting on my order to arrive in front of me.
I sipped on a sweet tea, slouching in my seat, as if to let the tension and tiredness drain out.
It was December. It had rained, but was beginning to clear and turn cold — colder than usual for Southeast Georgia.
Shoppers and senior citizens talked at the tables around me, catching up on the latest deals they had found or talking about their sports teams or grumbling about the nastiness we call politics these days.
The restaurant had Yuletide greetings painted on its window fronts and a brightly decorated Christmas tree, with lots of color in the corner.
And, there was a life size Santa Claus, who sang songs, declared “Ho! Ho! Ho!” at the end of each tune and danced to the music he was singing.
The entrance of the next couple of guests made me smile.
A man and woman and a little, cherub faced, curly blonde headed girl, maybe four or five years old came in.
The little girl was a ball of energy and a chatterbox and she could hardly contain her excitement for the approaching Christmas season.
Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to the Christmas tree and Santa as her parents had gone to the counter to order.
They called her — once, twice, three times. No answer.
She stood, instead, in front of the dancing, singing Santa, mesmerized. Enthralled. Maybe even entranced.
“Santa!” she exclaimed, addressing the jolly old elf, though movable plastic with a soundtrack was all he was.
“Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas,” he declared, breaking out into “Santa Claus is coming to Town.”
The little blonde headed darling did not care. She began swaying and dancing along with him and breathlessly naming every single last thing she wanted for Christmas. I recalled a talking doll, a make up kit, a jump rope and bicycle just to name a few, but her list came in rapid fire.
When Santa stopped singing, she laughed and giggled at him.
Her mother used her full name this time beckoning her to come sit down and eat before her food got cold.
They sat down in a booth across from me.
I took up for her daughter.
“Mama,” I said. “She has way more important things to do right now than eat. She has to talk to Santa.”
The mother looked at me and shook her head.
“I’m glad she is now,” she said. “We have just taken her to the mall to meet with Santa and not only would she not say a single word to him and not have her picture made with him, she also would not get within 50 feet of him.”
I laughed at that news.
Finally, the little girl came and sat down and ate her dinner.
I stayed a little longer over lunch that day and watched as the young family finally went on their way.
“Bye, Bye Santa,” she said, stopping with the big guy in the red suit as she left the diner. “I’ll leave you some cookies Christmas Eve!”
I needed that little episode that day.
There is a sentence in “Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus” that says “(Santa) will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.”
My forty-something year old heart was made glad that day, too.
• Jason Deal is the news editor for The Blackshear Times. Reach him at [email protected].
