Why I still Believe in Santa Claus: Part 3
There was this one Christmas Eve Day a couple of years ago, when I spotted a minivan alongside the road. As I passed, on my way home from some last minute holiday thing or other, I noticed the person behind the wheel was…Santa! Full beard, red coat, the whole nine yards.
I couldn’t keep going. I pulled the car over, turned around, and went back. Then I eased up beside Santa and put my window down. The following conversation went something like this:
“Hello, Santa! Are you stranded? Do you need help?”
Santa, put his window down, smiled broadly and said, “No, no. I’m just…you know. Waiting.” Wink.
I smiled back. “Okay, I thought I’d better check. It’s a big night, after all.”
He nodded sagely. “The biggest.”
“And I have a long list for you this year. But you’ll see all that in my annual letter.”
“I know,” said Santa.
I got a chill. “Well, I’ll head on home then. Merry Christmas, Santa.”
I drove away, and in a few hundred yards, looked into my rearview mirror. But there was no mini-van back there any more. And, yes, he might’ve had time to start up the engine and zip around a corner and out of my sight. Barely. But I am convinced this was my second-ever encounter with the real Santa Claus. What he was doing in the mini-van, I still don’t know.