Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.
~Hamilton Wright Mabie
There was no snow at all that day,
Though Christmas was just days away.
The trees were bare, the grass was brown,
In short the kids were feeling down.
A rumor floated round the room,
That added to the frigid gloom.
This new idea was tough to hear,
And stole some of their Christmas cheer.
The rumor said with mocking tongue
That Santa was just for the young,
For little ones with lists all made
Not for big kids in the second grade.
So they were depressed in room 124
When the man in red walked through the door.
Should they resist the urge to now believe,
It being so close to Christmas Eve?
His cheeks were rosy, his dimples merry,
The usual beard and a nose like a cherry.
He smiled at them all and he moved toward the chair
And he sat as the whispers were filling the air.
Some hesitated and some gave a shrug,
But then as a group they all moved toward the rug.
“It’s him,” stated Zack, with commitment and zeal,
“I’ve seen lots of Santas, but this one is real!”
“How do you know?” whispered Rachel, unsure—
“He’s not like the Santa I saw at the store—
“I thought he was real, at least it seemed so,
With so many Santas it’s so hard to know.”
Santa talked to them all as they sat on the floor,
And he spoke of behaving and giving and more.
And they listened intently and then watched him stand,
But before he could leave, Nathan put up his hand.
“Yes?” Santa asked as he towered above,
And he pointed at Nathan with gleaming white glove.
“Santa,” asked the child with an uneasy grin,
“What we want to know, is—are you really him?”
And like a sudden shattering glass,
A silence fell upon the class.
The teacher was shocked as she stared at the child,
A question like that could send the class wild.
But a quiet remained and the children all waited
The question, they felt, was very well stated.
As she pointed gently toward his cheek.
“I’ve seen you Santa, in other classes,
But I don’t remember you with glasses.
“And yesterday your eyes were brown,
When I saw you in a store downtown
And now I see your eyes are blue—
So tell us Santa, which one is true?”
Then up spoke Chris with impish grin,
“I have to ask about your skin.
One day I saw you with your sack
In another place and you were black!
“How can Santa be both black and white,
With eyes of blue and brown, what’s right?”
“How can it be?” the children mused.
They were stumped, and angered and a bit confused.
“The real Santa,” stated James,
“Wouldn’t play these kinds of games.
So tell us, Santa—are you real or fake—
This is not a chance we’d like to take.”
“Oh my,” sighed Santa. “What a position!
I’ll answer you on one condition—believe anyway.”
And he sat back down upon the chair
And met them with a loving stare,
“I may not always look the same,
But Santa is my one true name.”
Said Kaij, “We mean no disrespect,
But I’m afraid that we suspect
That not all Santas can be real
And you’re in on this impostor deal.”
“Mom says Santa,” said Stefanie,
“Is not one that you ever see,
You and others in disguise
Are merely Santa’s helper guys.”
“If that’s the case,” Dakota said,
“How can we trust any man in red?
You must admit there is a danger,
When sharing wishes with a stranger.”
“Ah,” said Santa, “A point well taken
I can see that your faith’s been shaken.
You want to know if wishes are heard
By the one true Santa? You have my word.
“No matter which man plays the part,
Your wish goes straight to Santa’s heart.”
And here he softly tapped his chest
The very part that kids know best.
“It’s not a question of real or fake
Believing is a choice you make.”
So once again the large man stood,
And reminded them firmly to be good.
He left them there to sit and think,
But through the doorway gave a wink.
So quietly they left the floor,
Eyes still on the classroom door.
After all, it gives a person pause
To think they’d just met Santa Claus.
So was he the real one? They’ll never know,
But outside the window fell flakes of snow.
