You hit a certain age, and sometimes you simply stop believing in Santa.
It happened to me a million years ago.
And then I had children, and the magic of Santa sprinkled its way back into my life. As each year has passed that magic has intensified.
I realize we have barely entered October and I haven’t even covered the house in pumpkins and black cats, but my mind is already on Christmas and Santa.
And it is my son’s doing.
I was just biting into my last grilled shrimp at Applebees when Coop, suddenly standing in our booth, leaned in, eyes as wide as apples and stage-whispered, “Mommy, Daddy…..LOOK – its SANTA.”
We looked. My jaw slack, I realized I was staring.
The long white hair, the beard, the belly, the RED SHIRT….
IT IS SANTA.
In October. In Applebees.
I was hesitant to interrupt his dinner, but Coop was insistent. He hopped down, arms swinging, he skipped over to where Santa was sitting and said hello, “Hi Santa.”
And, of course Santa replied….”Well, hello little man.”
Just like that – Santa kept the magic alive.