*
This year was no different. The aisles had been rearranged to make room for ‘his’ house, neatly tucked in the corner of the toy department. All the parents and their children crowded into the waiting area. Their futile attempts to quiet the calls of ‘I want a Barbie … Can I ask him for a new bicycle? New Crayons and coloring books … Puzzles and blocks …’ poured the requests as the little voices mingled.
Santa sat in his big, plump chair, his ‘HO! HO! HO!’ bellowing, as the photographer snapped the shots of children ‘confiding their dire needs’.
Margaret claimed profoundly to her parents, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m too old to sit on his lap. I’ll just take them up.’ She guided Craig and Abigail through the gathering and up the rickety wire steps. They stood in line and waited for their turn. Craig was patient, considering he was the family ‘ramrod’, and Abigail crossed her arms, showing her profound dissatisfaction in having to wait.
“Why can’t we just go see him!” the four-year-old said sternly, her head cocked and eyebrows puckered.
Craig kept quiet, but nodded his agreement vehemently.
Margaret had her hands full. Gently but firmly she turned them around to face the ‘jolly old elf’.
“Keep your voices down, if you can’t behave, we’ll just go home … with NO pictures. Is that what you want?” she whispered, trying not to be too harsh.
Their small voices floated up to her ears.
“No …” Craig replied as ‘big brother’ shoved a pointed elbow into ‘little sister’.
It was their normal routine, badger and tease, and it never stopped. Turning toward him, her arms firmly crossed, Abigail scowled as only a four-year-old can and uttered ‘HUMPF!’
“OK … HO! HO! HO! …Who do we have here?” Santa’s burly middle rolled as he spoke.
Margaret gently led Craig and Abigail to the ‘stage’, leaned forward on tippy-toes, and whispered instructions in the old man’s ear. He acknowledged her request with a wink and a smile.
Abigail, her arms still folded, stopped dead in front on Santa’s knees and stared off grumpily into the toy aisles.
Craig moved up behind her; his arms held behind his back, his hands grasped tightly over his backside.
“Now, what is the matter here?” Santa firmly said, as one eyebrow rose behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Problems … Well we can’t have that now, can we …” The children frowned at his statement.
“But … but … Santa …she started first …” Craig said, expecting a scolding to follow.
“Before you tell me what I can bring you, you must do something for me first,” Santa replied coyly.
Craig and Abigail looked at each other strangely and turned back to Santa, who just smiled.
“You must kiss and make up, or I won’t listen to your ‘list’,” he stated adamantly. Firmly he placed his white-gloved hands on their tiny shoulders and turned them towards each other. He watched them with scrutiny, but nothing happened. “Well?” he said with a grunt, tapping his fingers on his knees.
“I don’t like him, he’s a meanie!” Abigail blurted out.
“Just this once, to make Santa happy,” the old man urged.
Craig leaned forward, closed his eyes and puckered up.
With a look of disgust, eyes shifting back and forth, Abigail grimaced and turned her cheek. As lips met skin, the photographer’s camera flashed. The parents and children, who had turned silent as mice, cheered and clapped loudly. Santa’s cheeks grew rosy; his eyes squinted as he smiled, the ‘HO! HO! HO!’ returned and he lifted the two children up and sat them on each knee.
Rattling off their long list to Santa, Craig and Abigail smiled from ear to ear.
Kissing them both on the cheek, the jolly old elf replied, “Now be a good little boy and girl, and Santa will be sure to bring you everything you asked for.”
Margaret met the children as they jumped down off Santa’s lap and walked off the stage.
“I hope you listened to what Santa said, he’s always watching, you know,” Mom replied, as she put their coats and hats back on. “We’ll come back for the picture next week. It will be a good addition to the others.”
The cheering slowly faded and the procession dwindled away.
The scheduled two hours had passed quickly.
The overjoyed children and their overburdened parents had come and gone.
Santa stepped down from his ‘house’ and the photographer removed her film.
“Until next year …” Santa stated as the rows of store lights clicked off one by one.