Hey, You're Santa Claus!

A month before the first Christmas I spent in Forest City, NC, I was coerced by a local merchant, in cahoots with my wife, Betty, to accept the seasonal job of town Santa Claus. Years before I had assumed a one-night stand as old Ho-Ho in California for a group of ladies in a church missionary society. Let me tell you, it was a traumatic experience and I resolved that I would never be conned into such a thing again. However, the euphoria of my new lifestyle as a retiree, I suppose, blind-sided me and I reluctantly agreed to don the suit and beard and bag of candy.

The first afternoon I received a lot of attention. The decorations were up all over town since Thanksgiving and the locals were wondering who was this guy with the foreign accent shuffling down Main Street handing out candy and taking requests from kids, young and old. Well, I must admit it was for the most part fun. I was told that just before Christmas, I would ride on a float in the traditional parade down Main Street, have my picture on the front page of the local paper and experience my moment of glory. One young lady in her mid twenties--she said her name was Lynn--seemed more enthralled by the foreign sounding Santa than most of the others. I had fashioned a badge with a red ribbon attached that I wore pinned above my pillowed belly that said, “Happy Birthday Jesus,” and Lynn said she would like to have one just like it. Obviously, my new friend was a bit childlike, different, as many overly friendly and excited people are said to be. I promised that if she would meet me the following day at a certain time in front of Smith’s Drugs I would have one for her. And so, that night I fashioned another badge, complete with red ribbon, and handed it to her the following day. She was so excited. Her mother thanked me for bringing such joy to Lynn. The following Sunday, Betty and I had occasion to attend a Christmas program at a local church, and lo and behold, there was Lynn all dressed up and sporting her Happy Birthday Jesus badge. Of course she didn’t recognize me without my Santa suit but she was excitedly showing everyone the badge, “Look what Santa Claus gave me.”

That was over twenty years ago and I no longer walk the streets as the town Santa. Eventually, Lynn found out who Santa was and every time I would see her with her mother, Leona, around town shopping for groceries, she would giggle, turn red and hide her face and say excitedly, “Hey, you’re Santa Claus!” She’d run over and hug me and say, “I pray for you every day!” Leona would smile patiently, “Now Lynn…”

The last time I saw Lynn was a couple of weeks ago. She was standing alone by the shopping carts in a local market. She giggled and hugged me, “You were Santa Claus,” and she blushed. “Where’s your Mom, Lynn?” I asked. “Oh, Mama’s sick. I don’t know what’s the matter with Mama. I’m worried about Mama.” I asked her, “How did you get here, Lynn?” “Oh, a neighbor lady brought me,” she said, pointing to the parking lot. “Mama and me need some groceries.” I said, “I hope your Mama’s going to be OK, Lynn.” “I’m worried about Mama,” she said.

A few days ago as I scanned my local paper, I noticed in the obituary section that is abbreviated on the front page, that Mary Lynn Butler, 46, was listed. Could it be Lynn? Turning to page 5 it was confirmed that my friend Lynn had indeed passed away on Monday, June 9, 2003. The write-up stated that Lynn loved her God, her family and her community, and that she loved to sing gospel music. I would add from my perspective that she was always happy and cheerful; always delighted to see people she knew. And as for me, she always said she prayed for me every day.

Lynn died of a sudden heart attack. I didn’t make it to her service, but I did go to the funeral home the evening before. Her two brothers and two sisters were in line to receive friends. Leona, Lynn’s mother, was too ill to attend. I mentioned to one of her brothers that I met Lynn when I was Santa Claus some twenty years ago and that I had given her a Happy Birthday Jesus badge. “She still has it,” he said. And when I mentioned that she always told me when I’d see her around town that she prayed for me every day. “I believe that’s the truth,” he said. “She spent so much time in prayer; she probably had calluses on her knees.”

Having known Lynn for so many years, and experienced her uninhibited outpourings of love and joy to everyone she met, me included, it occurs to me how ironic it is for society to look upon “challenged” people with pity. As I see it, we who are accepted as the “normal ones” have a lot to learn from the Lynn’s of this world. With all the love and affection they show to us, perhaps we should be the ones to be pitied. It really wouldn’t be “cool” to throw our arms around someone, giggle and blush and say right out loud, “I pray for you every day,” As for me, I wish I could hear her exclaim just one more time, “Hey, you’re Santa Claus!” One thing’s for certain, I will some day. If I’m lucky, perhaps she’ll sing one of her gospel songs just for me. And another thing: I’ll miss you, my dear friend.