Merry Christmas

The early Christmas morning crowd at Hotcakes Casa was a lively one.

Two tables were pushed together to accommodate a family of eight – all clad in light blue and silver snowman-themed pajamas. The mother and father were tired but smiling, while stepladder children (and a young cousin or two thrown in) combined for a joyous cacophony.

One table was occupied by boisterous industry workers who had ended their shift; another two featured couples who – based on their hand-holding and doe-eyed gazes – appeared to still be in the honeymoon phase of their relationship; and the bar was packed by regulars who started every day with a cup of Joe at “The Casa.”

Finally, the bell above the door jingled and a heavyset, olive-skinned man in a bright red Santa suit walked in and sat down at a corner table. He pulled off his stocking cap and glanced over the menu.

“Good morning, Santa,” said Bonita, pouring piping hot coffee into the thick white mug already placed on the table. “Merry Christmas.”

Santa looked at her name tag and smiled.

“Merry Christmas, and good morning, Bonita,” he said. “Looks like you guys are busy.”

“Always. It’s a good busy, though. Helps the time go by faster.”

Bonita – short and thin with a broad face framed by a braided ponytail – was in her mid-thirties and still had a hint of an accent from her native Mexico.

“So … was I good to you this year?” Santa asked.

Bonita chuckled.

“I don’t know yet. My shift doesn’t end until 11 a.m. and that’s when we’ll celebrate. Well, three of us will celebrate. My husband’s in the service and I won’t see him until he’s home on leave sometime next year. Right now, it’s just me and my son and mother-in-law at the apartment. My kid wanted one of those dinosaur gadgets and I managed to get him that, but I had to guess on a couple of other surprises. Between going to night school and this, I tend to miss a lot of the details. Anyway, what I can get for you?”

Santa ordered potatoes – sprinkled, throttled and enveloped – and a slice of apple pie. As was always the case at Hotcakes Casa, the order was served up quickly.

“There you go, Santa,” Bonita. “Come to think of it, all your work was done on Christmas Eve, right? You’re probably tired of being called Santa.”

He let out a hearty “ho, ho, ho.”

“I figured I owed you at least one jolly ol’ elf laugh,” he said. “The name’s Barry Nicholas. You can call me that, or you can call me Santa. I don’t mind.”

Santa wolfed down his food, slurped his last bit of coffee and put an envelope on the table. He then went to the register where Bonita was waiting for him.

“Bonita, I hope you and Caesar have a very, merry Christmas,” he said. “I left a little something for you on the table that might help you with your school fees. Oh, and Rod? Don’t be surprised if Rod is waiting for you when you get home. I had a talk with his commanding officer and he decided to let him spend the holidays with his family.”

Bonita’s eyes widened.

“I … I don’t remember telling you the name of my kid. Or my husband’s,” she said.

“You didn’t,” Santa said as he headed for the door. “I’m St. Nicholas … it’s my job to know these things. Merry Christmas!”