Thought you might like this reading from Celebrating Christmas: An Anthology. Edited by Carl Seaburg. page 160.
There he sat, red suit, conical hat, fur-trimmed and all, on that chilly park bench, glancing skyward as though assessing the chance of snow.
I sat beside him. "How come you're not out there on the corner with your iron pot and bell?"
"I am not one of them," he replied, "I happen to be Santa Claus."
I smiled, pleasantly enough, but my doubt must have showed.
"I really am," he said, a trifle wistfully.
"But how can you tell if you are the real Santa Claus?"
"That is the question," said he, "How tell the true prophet from the false?"
"But do you really live at the North Pole?"
"Legend," he replied, "The fact is that I am everywhere."
"Are you also omniscient and omnipotent?"
"You mistake me for a friend of mine."
A little embarrassed,I yet persisted. "Perhaps you only think you are Santa Claus."
"That would be my problem, not yours. But I might point out that there are no children around."
"That is odd," I conceded.
"The reason," he said "is that I cannot be seen."
Like a chess player crying out "Check-mate" I said, "I see you!"
"And that is your problem, not mine."
We both looked up at the sky. "It might snow," he said, "It's better when it snows. But snow or not I must be going."
"Going where?"
"To distribute toys, of course."
"One last question. What is the spirit of Christmas?"
"Well, if you want to sound scholarly you might call it the ultimate potential. It's the moment when the best that is human surmounts all the stumbling blocks on the path to becoming. You care, so you help. You love, so you give. And you dream... you dream of the time when this brief season will be extended to the whole year."
"Don't you sometimes get discouraged?"
"Dear me, I've only been at this for a few centuries. Give me time."
There he sat, red suit, conical hat, fur-trimmed and all, on that chilly park bench, glancing skyward as though assessing the chance of snow.
I sat beside him. "How come you're not out there on the corner with your iron pot and bell?"
"I am not one of them," he replied, "I happen to be Santa Claus."
I smiled, pleasantly enough, but my doubt must have showed.
"I really am," he said, a trifle wistfully.
"But how can you tell if you are the real Santa Claus?"
"That is the question," said he, "How tell the true prophet from the false?"
"But do you really live at the North Pole?"
"Legend," he replied, "The fact is that I am everywhere."
"Are you also omniscient and omnipotent?"
"You mistake me for a friend of mine."
A little embarrassed,I yet persisted. "Perhaps you only think you are Santa Claus."
"That would be my problem, not yours. But I might point out that there are no children around."
"That is odd," I conceded.
"The reason," he said "is that I cannot be seen."
Like a chess player crying out "Check-mate" I said, "I see you!"
"And that is your problem, not mine."
We both looked up at the sky. "It might snow," he said, "It's better when it snows. But snow or not I must be going."
"Going where?"
"To distribute toys, of course."
"One last question. What is the spirit of Christmas?"
"Well, if you want to sound scholarly you might call it the ultimate potential. It's the moment when the best that is human surmounts all the stumbling blocks on the path to becoming. You care, so you help. You love, so you give. And you dream... you dream of the time when this brief season will be extended to the whole year."
"Don't you sometimes get discouraged?"
"Dear me, I've only been at this for a few centuries. Give me time."
No comments:
Post a Comment