Family Forum / Parenting / Mothers / December 2007

The enclosed mall hummed with the pedestrian traffic of two
thousand feet jammed together and milling from the hundred stores.
Jingling bells, Musak's instrumental "White Christmas," and two
dozen kids standing in a snake-like line added to the festively
deafening din already reaching Blue Oyster Cult concert-level
pain.

I watched in amusement as Spawn jumped and pranced about trying to
peer through the forest of adults ahead of us to get a better view
of the giant elf dressed in his traditional red suit with its
white trim, Jolly Ol' Saint Nick.

"He's back!"

"Yes, hon, he is."

"Think he'll remember me?" she asked in a worried tone, chewing at
her thumb.

"He remembers everyone. How do you think he knows if you're good
or bad?"

"Oh yeah. I forgot. I'm so excited."

"I noticed." The line clicked two steps forward. "Got an idea of
what you're going to talk to him about?"

"Yeah!" and she clapped her hands quickly together, bouncing in
place like a jumping cricket.

I waited.

Spawn heard "Rudolf" through the mall noise and started to softly
hum.

"Can you share?" I prodded.

"Yeah but I doubt you'll be able to help with it. It's something
that only Santa can answer."

"Sounds serious..."

"It is. Sort of."

I knew what the issue was without Spawn's needing to tell me. I
sighed inwardly. I watched as she twirled back and forth to
another musical accompaniment and then asked, "Who doesn't
believe?"

She stopped and looked up at me. "Eric. He said that 'Santa's only
your parents putting presents out.' and I told him that I could
prove Santa was real. And then," we stepped two clicks closer, "he
said that I couldn't."

"Oh. So Eric's always right, is he?" I asked with a smile already
knowing that Spawn considered Eric one of the dimmer bulbs in her
class.

"Uh. No. He's not, as a matter of fact."

"He's right most of the time?" I pushed.

"No. Actually, he's not right a lot of the time..."

"So let's examine his track record. Eric's 'not right a lot of the
time.' Eric's upset with everyone in your class all the time and
always says mean things that get him in trouble. Eric is a
knothead especially when he sets his mind to the task. Those are
some compelling reasons why you should believe him, no?" I knelt
down, held her hand and looked in her face, her ice-blue eyes
sparkling and framed by her blond locks. "By the way, who's the
smarter of the two?" I smiled. "You, with Santa right there for
you to talk to," I gestured towards the canopied receiving area,
"or Eric stuck at home festering like a canker sore?" I smiled
crookedly. "I'm pretty sure I know what Miss Emm would answer."

"Oh, she answered already! Eric didn't like her answer. He yelled,
too, which got him sent to the office."

I raised my eyebrow at that bit of news. Eric was spending more
and more time "in the office" because of his ongoing outbursts. I
stood back up, my knees, spine, wrists, and neck sounding like a
bowl of rice krispies in milk. "Decided on what you want to ask?"

"Yep."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Yep," she smiled impishly. "But 'suggestions are only that.'"

"Hmm. Where's my royalty for using that?" I held out my hand.

"Put it on my tab..." she said as she flipped her hair closing the
conversation.

During the next thirty minutes of this torturous wait, Spawn
played 'pattycakes' with the little girl behind us. The two girls
were deep in discussion (each knew more about the solving world
peace through sharing person information than I thought possible)
when I touched Spawn's shoulder. "It's your turn, hon."

"Already? Whoa! Bye Naomi. I hope you get everything and your
brother leaves you alone."

"Yeah. Bye."

"Santa! Remember me?"

I walked across the receiving area to the monitor area. I had a
feeling this would be our last trip and was already reaching for
my Visa.

"The rumbling baritone of the giant man was measured, soothing, a
confident. Spawn talked to him and he answered her questions
without pause. The camera's flash clicked and my eyes saw greens
and blues and yellows dancing about. I watched the monitor and
liked the photo. Santa reached down into a bag by his side and
produced something. He set Spawn back down on the carpet and
looked at her and winked. She smiled that impish grin and gave him
a hug.

I made my purchase and we headed back into the sea of humanity
pushing and pulling throughout the marbled floor of the mall.
"What'd you talk about?"

"Santa. I asked him. He said if I believed he'd always be there...
I want to... But I don't know."

I know she wants to but the evidence is starting to pile up
against that belief.

The Ranger