Author: Scott Adamson

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!”

The black and silver browline eyeglasses were well-worn, with bended temples, loose hinges and discolored nose pads. When held up to the light, however, the lens were perfectly clean and free of scratches.

The man put them on, gently pressing the bridge against the top of his nose with his index finger.

Across the way he saw a young child playing with a red, white and blue football, making an indention in the ground with the back of his heel before grinding one end of the ball into the makeshift kicking tee.

He took a few steps back, ran toward the ball and made contact – only to see the football skitter off to the left without ever getting airborne.

“That’s OK, kid,” said the man. “It takes a while. Back in my day footballs were rounder and fatter, but I still had trouble kicking the dang thing. I think what might help is to get you a real kicking tee, like the ones the players on TV use. I bet Howard’s Sporting Goods has some good ones for sale.”

A quick glance to the left revealed an awkward middle schooler desperately trying to juggle a soccer ball. The best he could do was keep the ball in the air for three bounces – one with his knee. However, he kept trying, and even managed to steal a quick glance at the onlooker and smile.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” the man yelled. “It’ll come … you just have to keep at it. And as long as you keep a positive attitude, then you’re halfway there. Now me, I didn’t know anything about soccer when I was your age. Couldn’t tell you the first thing about it. You’ve already done more than I ever could.”

To the right an older teen sat cross-legged on the grass, staring off into space with red eyes. He’d obviously been crying, but certainly didn’t want anyone to know it.

The man eased to the ground, let out a groan and sat next to him.

“I don’t think I ever told you about Marietta Turpin,” he said. “It was my junior year of high school and I’d had an eye on her for two years. The most I’d ever done was say hello to her … I was so shy I could just never work up the courage to ask her out. Well, finally I started to feel a little bit better about myself. I’d just gotten brand new glasses and brand new shoes, and even landed a spot on the baseball team starting in right field. So, one day right after the last bell rang at school, I decided I’d go for it and ask her if maybe she wanted to go to a show or get a milkshake or something. You know what? She told me she wished I’d asked her last year because that was before she started going steady with Johnny Tanner. Holy smokes, was I embarrassed. She was nice about it, but I wanted to crawl into a hole. Thing is, you get your heart broken. And I wish I could tell you this was the only time, but if I did, I’d be lying. Someday you’ll find the right somebody, though. And guess what? It might even be one of those situations where the right somebody finds you.”

The man stood up, took off the glasses and pulled them against his chest.

“Are those your dad’s glasses?”

“Yeah,” said the man, looking at his wife. “I was just going through his desk drawer and found them. Thought I’d put ‘em on … don’t really know why. But I don’t want them to get taken in the estate sale.”

“Oh, honey. He really loved you, and I know you loved him.”

The man smiled.

“I’m glad I tried these old things on. Kind of a nice reminder that he was always looking out for me.”