It started as a Christmas joke. My wife thought it would be funny if we welcomed our youngest daughter at the airport with me dressed as Santa Claus. I had reservations, but she can be very persuasive. Imagine Santa showing up at the airport—holding a sign with Amanda’s name on it. Imagine the surprise.
Next morning, December 24, we drove to the airport. I changed into my newly rented Santa suit in the parking lot. As we walked to the terminal, an airport vehicle screeched to a halt and the driver called out, “Hey Santa, where’s that Cadillac I asked for?”
“Not until tomorrow,” Santa replied jovially, starting to get into the Christmas mood. Inside the terminal, everyone smiled and waved. Parents nudged their children and pointed out the kindly old gent in the bright red suit—me. A lady waiting to board her plane was wearing a hat with reindeer antlers. Santa gave her a sporty thumbs up. She laughed, forgetting for a moment that she was travel-weary and her feet hurt from standing in line.
We learned to our dismay that Amanda’s plane was going to be two hours late, and I caught myself just before uttering a distinctly un-Santa-like word of exasperation. Lucky for me, because I looked down and saw a young boy standing at my elbow, maybe 4 years old, staring up at Santa with eyes full of trust and wonder. He reached up for a handshake, but it was Santa who was shaken. I recovered in time to wish him a “Merry Christmas,” accept his hand of friendship, and issue a gentle “Ho, Ho” that I hoped would sound jolly, not scary.
With time to kill, we decided to go for a bite to eat. We drove out of the parking lot and the attendant at the gate took one look and said, “I don’t care if your reindeers have been waiting, you’ve still got to pay.” Santa reached for his wallet and the attendant laughed and waved us through. “It’s free,” he said. “Have a good one.”
Later, back at the airport, I waited at gate 7B in my Santa suit, holding aloft a sign with my daughter’s name on it. Kids and grownups alike looked on, their eyes bright as tree ornaments.
As people filed off the plane, their expressions changed from bored, to curious, to amused when they spotted Santa. Then Amanda came down the ramp. She saw Santa and quickly averted her eyes. She wanted no interactions with the old elf. She veered away, eyes straight ahead, searching for her parents with a look of grim determination.
Santa shoved the sign in front of her. She pushed ahead. Then she stopped, momentarily puzzled. Santa pointed at the sign, then at her. The sign, then her. She shook her head, bewildered; then, as recognition dawned, she threw her arms around me and with a huge grin said, “Santa Claus! I didn’t expect to see you here!”
I like to think about all the people who went home that day with tales of Santa at the airport and the pretty young woman who was so happy to see him.
We walked to the car, people waving and smiling all the way. The attendant at the gate laughed as we drove up, and called out, “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Driving to the nearest McDonald’s, Santa changed from his red suit into civilian garb and stood in line for a cup of coffee. I kept waiting for people to smile or wave. No one did. It was the same old me, minus the suit and beard, but now no one took any notice. I was just another guy getting coffee.
It was a great Christmas. We laughed about the airport adventure and talked about how people loved seeing Santa. As for me, I found that I missed the smiles, the attention, the adoring looks of children, the empowering sense of standing out in a crowd, being a hero. A person could get used to that in a hurry.
I was the same person with or without the suit, wasn’t I? Wouldn’t it be something to be able to evoke some of those same joyous reactions on my own? It’s enough to make you wonder. About a lot of things.