Time to Believe in Santa
December 7, 2022 – North Pole, Planet Earth
The Arctic wind howled through the open door, instantly chilling the room. Santa Claus stomped his icy boots on the welcome mat before letting the door swing shut. He peeled off his fur lined coat and hung it from the designated brass hook. He left his boots toppled over and not in the rubber bin designed to collect melted snow.
Mrs. Claus did not say anything about the boots. She read the sour mood on her husband’s face. She did not want to make it worse by starting another argument about keeping the floor dry and leaving things in their place.
Their home was tiny compared to the surrounding buildings. Like all North Pole structures, it was dome shaped. Windows were scarce. They were hard to insulate, and without much to see outside, not very useful. But Mrs. Claus had insisted on two circular glass panes on either side of the entrance door. As with most December evenings, the windows were covered in an exterior layer of blurry ice. The only perceptible objects in the polar darkness were the orange lights atop the factories and the rotating spotlights guiding cargo gets into gigantic hangers.
The other domes were connected by tunnels, but Santa’s house was only accessible through a single outdoor entrance. It made the place an oasis in the middle of a constantly churning hive. No one dared show up at the door uninvited.
Santa wiped the frost from his red, wind chapped face. With hunched shoulders, he walked into the sitting room, built to be the first thing he saw when arriving home. Dark wood beams stretched out like an eight-legged star from the top of the domed ceiling and down to the floor. Rich red and green tapestries covered the spaces between the beams. Across the room from the entrance door, an orange fire danced below a mantle. The fire appeared perfectly authentic but was merely clever lighting set into ceramic logs. The heat billowing from the mantle came from the thermal vents tapped miles below the surface.
Every detail of the sitting room was designed to make it feel cozy and inviting. That included the reclining chair in front of the fire. Its panels were pillowy soft and covered in forest green leather with the texture of velvet. Santa Claus shuffled to the chair, fell backwards, and pulled a side lever to elevate his feet. He sighed long and loud.
“What is it?” asked Mrs. Claus, who had been trailing him since he entered the room.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” replied Santa, with his eyes closed and his arms folded across his belly.
“Yes, you do. I know that sigh. Let’s see. It’s Wednesday so you just finished your meeting with the production managers.”
Santa kept his eyes closed as he let his arms fall over the sides of the chair. “We’re never going to pull this off. We’ve got supply chain issues the size of the Himalayas. I know I’ve said that before, but it’s much worse this year.”
“Things always work out in the end,” said Mrs. Claus in a calming voice.
“It’s impossible to get the electronics and batteries we need,” Santa continued. “I told them five years ago we should build our own factories for that stuff instead of outsourcing it. I should have never listened to those smug elves with their MBAs.”
Mrs. Claus nodded and sympathetically repeated, “Uh huh.”
“Now we’re in trouble. But the parts aren’t the biggest problem. It’s the workers. I know Covid made it worse, but I’ve been worried about these younger elves since way before Covid. They’re just not into it.”
“Into what?”
“The mission. This whole operation. Elves used to be obsessed with timelines and customer satisfaction. For these new elves, it’s all about work and life balance, whatever that means.”
“What’s wrong with being balanced?”
“It really means they want to sit at home. Around here we make stuff. We ship stuff. Not everyone can be at home sending emails and making spreadsheets. Somebody has to be in the factory putting wheels on trucks and popping eyes into dolls’ heads.”
Mrs. Claus had heard the line about the wheels and the dolls’ eyes before. “Ah, Chris,” she said softly. She was the only one allowed to call him Chris and he always calmed down when he heard it. “I know it’s hard, but it’s hard every year. You always need a miracle and I’m sure another one is on the way.”
Santa leaned up in his chair with wide eyes. “Ah Jessica. What if we called it quits? Maybe it’s time. I’ve easily got enough in my 401K. We could get a little place in Hawaii. You know how much you like to swim. You could do it all year long. And I could permanently lose my winter anxiety weight.”
“Isn’t Hawaii better for vacations? Don’t you think you’d go stir crazy on an island?”
“It doesn’t have to be Hawaii. You pick the place.”
“You’d miss this place after two weeks.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would. You need to feel useful. You need the mission.”
“I won’t miss it at all. And no one will miss me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m only one guy. If what we’re doing is so important, the elves can take over without me. There’s a lot more of them than there are of me.”
Mrs. Claus shook her head and sniggered. “They wouldn’t last one season without you. Just this morning Seymore in accounting was telling me how his whole life revolves around you.”
Santa frowned. “Seymore in accounting is a brown noser. All he wants is the CFO job. I wouldn’t take anything he says to heart.”
“He’s only one example.” A timer dinged in the nearby kitchen. “That’s your hot chocolate. It’s been thickening in the machine.”
Mrs. Claus walked out of the sitting room and returned with an enormous mug. Her especially designed hot chocolate machine automatically added marshmallows and chocolate bars to milk, warming and stirring the mixture to the perfect consistency.
Santa reached for his mug with both hands. Its handles were made to look like two reindeer antlers. He sipped until the white whiskers around his mouth were colored a milk-chocolate brown.
“There, I knew that would make you feel better,” said Mrs. Claus soothingly.
Santa leaned closer to the fire. “I’m afraid there might not be enough hot chocolate in the world to make me feel better this time. What if I’m like those new elves? What if I don’t believe in what we’re doing anymore?”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It seems like people only think of me as a free version of Amazon. I’m lost in the pile of things arriving every day. People don’t even bother to write me letters anymore.”
“You’ve never done it for the thanks or the praise.”
“I know, but what’s the point? Why am I doing it? I don’t have the fire inside anymore. When I was younger, the fire inside was as red as my beard. Now my beard’s as white as the dead ashes.”
Mrs. Claus groaned and shook her head.
“Deep down, I don’t believe in myself anymore,” said Santa Claus.
“Well, I still believe in you.”
“I know, I know. You’re the one person I can always count on. Maybe the only one.”
“The only one? Millions of people believe in you!”
Mrs. Claus had prepared for this moment. In her apron pocket were printouts of messages which were still being processed by the communications department.
“I talked to Hector this morning. Remember him? He works with incoming mail. You’re right about the written letters, but we’re getting more email than ever. Look at this one. It arrived last night.”
Mrs. Claus held out a page containing a child’s picture. “That’s Catalina from Uruguay. She lives with her aunt and shares a room with her mother and brother. Their house burned down last month. All she asked for was a soccer ball for her brother and a replacement hairbrush for her mom.”
Santa’s eyes moved from the fire to the printout. He did not say a word, but Mrs. Claus could tell he was moved.
“And there’s Alek in Poland,” continued Mrs. Claus, unfolding another piece of paper. “He needs shoes for his family and the kids living next door.”
“How many kids live next door?”
“Four.”
“Hard to get through January in Poland without good shoes,” replied Santa thoughtfully. His face softened. The creases in his forehead did not look so deep.
“And don’t forget Daniel in Ghana,” continued Mrs. Claus, holding up a third picture.
“He asked for a windup flashlight. The electricity turns off in his village at night. He needs the flashlight to study his school lessons.”
“All he asked for was a light?”
“That’s the only think in the database.”
An undeniable twinkle returned to Santa’s eyes. He also had a lump in his throat.
“See, they all believe in you. And millions more we don’t have time to read about,” added Mrs. Claus.
Santa took a long sip of his hot chocolate as he stared into the fire. He sighed and sipped again. “Well, maybe I can make it through one more year. And let’s add more than a flashlight to Daniel’s list.”
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