Being Santa Claus : What I Learned About the True Meaning of Christmas (9781101600528) (17 page)

“Are you Donna?” I asked through the open passenger window.

“Yes.” She had a slight Spanish accent, but her English was perfect. “We are making two stops, the first to drop off my daughter at her grandmother’s and then I’ll be heading to work.”

“Sounds good,” I said, as they both slid into the backseat.

More often than not, my adult passengers wouldn’t bother to look at their taxi driver. But the children always did, and I would often catch a glimpse in my rearview
mirror of the younger ones staring at me, especially as it got closer to Christmas. While many of my fellow cab drivers often complained about unruly kids acting hyper in their backseats, the children in my cab always seemed to be on their best behavior.

As we drove away from Donna’s home that morning, I noticed her adorable little girl gazing at me intently. She never said a word, but I could see her big chocolate-brown eyes glued to my face the entire time. We dropped the girl off at her grandmother’s house, and I drove Donna to work without much conversation. Sometimes my passengers didn’t want any chitchat, and I respected their privacy. I dropped her off in front of a sandwich shop in a local strip mall, about twenty minutes from where she lived. I found out later from my dispatcher that Donna and her daughter went through this ritual every morning, since there weren’t any buses that traveled anywhere near that strip mall, and Donna didn’t own a car. In the evenings, the taxi company would dispatch another cab to pick up Donna from work, go get her daughter, and then drive them both back home.

A week later, my dispatcher sent me once again to pick up Donna and her daughter. As with the previous trip, I could see the little girl staring at me, even though she still didn’t say a word. This time, when I stopped at the grandmother’s house, I turned around and smiled at my passengers. “Okay, first stop!” I said. The little girl smiled back shyly, still saying nothing.

When Donna returned to the taxi after walking the little girl inside, she told me, “My daughter thinks you are Papá Noel.”

I knew that Papá Noel was how folks referred to Santa Claus in Spanish-speaking cultures. “I get that a lot,” I said. “She’s a beautiful little girl. What’s her name?”

“Ashley,” she said.

“Oh, really? What a coincidence! I have a daughter named Ashley, too, although mine is a teenager now.”

“I am afraid my Ashley will turn into a teenager before I know it,” she said. “They grow up so quickly, don’t they?”

“You can say that again!” I agreed, and we spent the rest of the ride swapping stories about our identically named daughters.

Luck of the draw determined which fares a taxi driver would be dispatched to pick up, and I had only a few runs with Donna and Ashley over the next few weeks. Each time, little Ashley sat there quietly staring at Papá Noel driving her to her grandmother’s house. But Donna and I enjoyed chatting with each other. Despite what I imagined to be somewhat difficult life circumstances, Donna was warm, friendly, and thoroughly positive in her outlook on life.

On the morning of December 23, I got a call to pick up Donna and Ashley again. But this time, something seemed noticeably different. I sensed a cloud of sadness
around Donna when I picked the two of them up. As we drove away from Donna’s mother’s house—with Ashley and her grandmother waving good-bye to the taxi—Donna started to cry.

I slowed down and turned around briefly to face her, “What’s wrong, Donna? Are you okay?”

Donna tried to hold back her tears. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m all right.” But the words were swallowed by a choked sob.

I pulled over so I could hand her a box of tissues that I had sitting on the front passenger seat.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping her eyes. “It’s just that I look at Ashley and feel so awful that she won’t have a Christmas.”

“No Christmas? Why?”

Donna seemed hesitant to share her problems with a total stranger, but after a few moments, she composed herself. “Ashley’s father gives us nothing, no child support…nothing. So I have to work long hours just to feed us. With the busy Christmas season, the sandwich shop is open longer, and I take all the extra shifts I can. Every day I work from 8:00 in the morning to 9:00 at night. Then I pick up Ashley and take her home to put her to bed. So now I work seven days a week, and I have no time to buy Ashley any Christmas presents. Not that I could even afford to if I did. Even with the extra shifts, there’s no money at all this year for extras. We don’t even have a tree. It’s so unfair for her not to
have a Christmas, but I can’t afford not to work…even for one shift.”

I felt so awful. I tried to tell her that everything would be all right and that Ashley had people who loved her, which was the most important thing. But deep down, my heart broke for them.

I dropped Donna off at work and wished her a Merry Christmas as best I could manage. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Donna and her daughter missing Christmas. It all seemed so wrong.

When I got home that night and our family sat down for dinner, Linda turned to me. “Sal, you look like you’re deep in thought.”

I lifted my head from the plate I’d been staring at and said, “Y’know, sometimes I just wish I could be the real Santa.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well, today I was in my cab, and I picked up this fare…,” and I went on to tell Linda and my Ashley all about Donna and her Ashley, and how this sweet little girl wouldn’t have any Christmas presents because her mom was working so many hours for so little money.

“Y’know what?” our Ashley said, hopping up from the table, once again amazing Linda and me with her generous spirit. “I’ve got some old things from when I was little. There’s books and some toys and a whole bunch of stuffed animals. In fact, I think a few of those stuffed animals even have the name Ashley sewn into
them.” She ran out to the garage and started hunting through boxes.

Linda turned to me. “We could probably give her some money, too, Sal.”

I let the idea float around in my mind for a moment before replying, “I kinda got the feeling from her that she wouldn’t accept a handout. She seems very proud. And to be honest, we really don’t have a lot of money to be giving away at the moment either.”

“How about we just buy them a Christmas tree, then?” Linda suggested. And in that instant, a wonderful plan started coming together, almost fully formed from the moment it entered my mind.

We needed to find a Christmas tree merchant close to where Donna lived. As it happened, there was one nearly around the corner from Donna’s apartment. Fortunately, even though it had gotten pretty late, we saw the vendor still open when we drove up, probably for last-minute Christmas shoppers like us.

I told the man there that I would be buying the tree that night, but I wouldn’t pick it up until mid-morning the next day. And when Linda explained to him that we were giving the tree as a surprise to a family that couldn’t afford to have Christmas, the man threw in a wreath along with the tree and said both would be ready for pickup the next day.

Once we got back home, I made a very important call to the taxi company dispatcher. “Hi, Ron, it’s Sal
Lizard,” I said. “I need to ask you for a big favor. I’m going to start my shift early at 6:00
A.M.
tomorrow, but don’t send me on any calls before 6:30 because I want to pick up that woman and her daughter who we pick up and drop off every day.”

“Why?” Ron sounded quite suspicious. Requests like this were frowned upon. Calls got assigned randomly or based on a taxi’s location at any specific time. If drivers were allowed to request specific fares, they would likely try to get the good tippers or the easy runs. Asking to be sent to pick up a regular customer, as I was now doing, would raise a major red flag.

“Well, Ron,” I explained. “The woman told me earlier today that she didn’t have any Christmas presents to give her daughter this year. So my daughter has put together a bag of her old toys to give them. But tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and so tomorrow morning will be my last chance to get those presents to her before it’s too late. If I can pick her up in the morning, I can give her the presents before I drop her off.”

Even Ron got in on the excitement and agreed to bend the rules just this once. At 6:00 the following morning, I put on my red Santa hat to wear for the day and drove my cab over to Donna’s apartment, the bag of toys hidden from sight in the trunk so Donna’s Ashley wouldn’t see them.

Shortly after 6:30, I heard the dispatcher’s voice on the radio: “Cab 33, your call came in.”

A few minutes later, Donna and Ashley came downstairs and got into my cab. Ashley saw me in my red hat, and her jaw dropped open for a second, then she broke into a big grin.

After we dropped off Ashley and headed for the strip mall, I started a casual conversation. “Do you remember I told you that I have a daughter named Ashley, too?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile.

“Well, last night I told my Ashley that your Ashley wasn’t going to have any presents for Christmas. So my Ashley collected a whole bunch of her old toys, most of which are in very good condition. Some of them even have the name Ashley on them. Anyway, I’ve got them all in a bag in the trunk, and we’d like to give them to you so you’ll have presents for Ashley tomorrow on Christmas.”

Donna was silent for a few seconds, as her mind seemed to be trying to process all that I’d just told her. “Are you joking?” she asked in a shocked, disbelieving voice.

“No, I’m absolutely serious,” I said and smiled. “My family wants your family to have a Merry Christmas.”

Suddenly, I felt her reach over the seat to give me a huge hug. Fortunately, we were stopped at a red light. She hugged me so tightly, I almost couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said over and over again.

When we got to our destination, I opened the trunk for her. I suddenly worried that the bag—very large and quite full—might be too much for Donna to carry all by herself. But she helped me get it out and didn’t seem to care about the size.

“I can’t afford much, but let me at least give you something for all these presents,” she said, taking out her wallet from her purse.

“Oh, you don’t understand,” I said quickly. “These are a gift, from my Ashley to your Ashley. Put your wallet away. I don’t even want you paying for today’s taxi ride. That’s my gift for you.”

Donna began to cry.

I started moving to get the box of tissues when she threw her arms around me and hugged me even tighter than before. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…,” she whispered in a quivering voice. I hugged her back. “You are an angel,” she said. And then she paused. “No, your daughter is an angel.
You
are Papá Noel!” and she smiled as the tears ran down her cheeks.

I watched Donna carry the bag of toys into the back of the sandwich shop as I started driving away. It was only 7:30, and I still had a bit of work to do. My Christmas mission wasn’t completed just yet.

I drove back to the Christmas tree lot by Donna’s apartment, picked up the tree and wreath, and put both into the trunk. The tree stuck out, and I had to drive with the trunk open. Fortunately, I didn’t need to go far.

Of course, my biggest challenge still lay ahead of me: getting into the building and delivering the tree and wreath. Thanks to the dispatcher, I knew Donna’s apartment number was 214. So I waited outside the front door of her building until someone came out. During the daytime of Christmas Eve, almost no one gave a second glance to a fellow who looked like Santa with a red and white velvet hat carrying a Christmas tree and wreath. The person who came out even held the door open for me and wished me a Merry Christmas.

Once at Donna’s apartment, I leaned the tree against the door, placed the wreath on the floor mat, and taped a note to the door that read, “For Apartment 214. Merry Christmas.”

I exited the building and returned to my cab, feeling quite jolly and imagining the surprise on Donna’s and Ashley’s faces when they saw what Santa had left for them. It was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, indeed.

The rest of the day was a busy one, and I decided to pull a double shift because so many other drivers were heading home to spend Christmas Eve with their families. (Back in 2003, I hadn’t yet started doing my pajama visits, and so I had the night available to earn a little extra money and then spend all of Christmas Day with Linda and Ashley.) By nightfall on Christmas Eve, I had almost forgotten about the tree and wreath that I left for Donna and Ashley at their door. Then, at
about 10:00
P.M.
, I heard the dispatcher on the radio. “Sal, you there?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“I’ve got the lady from Somerset on the line. She just called in. Did you drop off a tree at her place?”

“A
tree
?” I tried to sound shocked.

“Yeah, she says there was a tree outside her door when she got home, with a note saying it was for 214.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “Sounds like Santa visited her.”

“That wasn’t you?”

“Now, why would I do something like that?” I responded back into the two-way, trying to sound completely innocent.

“Hold on,” I heard the dispatcher say. After a short pause, he came back on. “Okay, I told her it wasn’t you, and she said she knows that it was. She was crying, and she said to tell you that no matter what you say, she’ll always know it was you, and that you made Christmas magical for her and her daughter.”

A rush of pure joy filled my heart. For all my years playing Santa Claus, talking to children, taking pictures, and handing out presents while wearing the red suit, I had never felt quite this wonderful before. I looked forward to returning home and telling Linda and Ashley everything that happened.

I knew before going out on my runs that Christmas Eve that it would be my last night working for the taxi company. The week before, one of my computer clients
had asked me to do some work for a few weeks that would require a bit of travel on my part. At the end of my shift, I drove back to the main garage, turned in my cab and keys, collected my final paycheck, and rode off into the sunset.