The REAL Santa Claus Lives in Our Town

I know you think this is just some gimmicky title, maybe for a post in which I talk about whether our children still believe in Santa. But I actually mean it seriously. I'm pretty sure the REAL guy really lives here. Year round.

He is a real person, not some made-up fantasy. I have seen him at the Post Office and on my way to the pediatrician. Today, Husband and I saw him as we were parking at the Thai restaurant for lunch.

He's tall -- maybe 6'2" or so. He has a giant thick white beard that curls softly down onto his chest. His hair seems a little sparse on top and is also white. He wears little wire-rimmed glasses. He is always smiling. He has pink-and-white cheeks.

In summer, he drives a convertible. It's bright candy-apple red.

Today, he was driving a sedan. Slightly burgundy in color.

For big jobs, he drives some giant type of pickup truck. You guessed it: bright, fire-engine red.

I have seen him maybe half-a-dozen times around the streets of our small downtown.

He is always dressed in red.

A.L.W.A.Y.S.

Once I saw him with someone else. She was small and spry looking, with smiling eyes and a very round face with greying hair curling around her temples. She was sitting beside him in the candy-apple-red convertible, enjoying the summer sunshine.

And she was also wearing red.

I'm not talking about a little bit of red. I'm talking in summer, he wears solid-color bright red t-shirts. In winter, some thick red sweater or over shirt. I don't have a clear memory of his feet, but if you asked me quick! how was he dressed besides the shirt? I would have to say red pants and black work boots, even though that sounds ridiculous for a grown man.

I know you will tell me that he isn't the REAL Santa, that he's just some guy who looks like Santa. But here's the thing: I grew up with a best friend whose father looked like Santa. He looked like Santa so much that in July, when he was in the mall in a madras shirt and khaki shorts, small children would come up to him wide-eyed and ask in breathy voices, "Are you really Santa?!"

Next to the Santa who lives in my town now, my best friend's dad looks like a second-string department store guy in a getup. I don't mean to cast aspersions on the lovely man who treated me like one of his own daughters. But his balding head, pink-and-white complexion, round belly, and neatly trimmed white beard can't hold a candle to the Santa I saw again today.

This man, the Santa in my town? He doesn't play Santa. He just IS Santa. He has the je ne sais quoi of Santadom. HO! HO! HO! just seems to permeate his being. Going quietly about his business in his everyday clothes (no one would wear the fancy velvet suits to run errands; what if you spilled Thai curry sauce on that beautiful white fur trim?), he just simply is the unobtrusive, big, bearded, pervasive presence that Santa must really be.

I suspect southeast Michigan is as good a place as any to be incognito. As incognito as it's possible for Santa to be. After all, compared to the North Pole, this is coming pretty far South for a good portion of the year.

But I'm onto him. Every time I see him, he makes me smile in spite of myself.

And really, isn't that what the Santa spirit is all about?