She looked so stern, grim even, as she stepped through the opening between the velvet roped posts. Moving slowly toward him from her spot at the head of the long line, even her gait seemed unsure as she approached. Stopping finally just below where he was seated on the sparkling, raised dais, she glanced furtively up at him, then quickly back down to a spot just in front of her toes.
From the comfort of his big overstuffed, green armchair he waited, growing somewhat impatient. Usually at this point, having waited an interminable length of time in that noisy line, children fairly raced up the steps and onto his lap! In this little girls case, he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was even going to ascend the steps to where he waited, or not?
Twisting nervously, she turned away yet again, glancing tentatively back toward the colorfully dressed crowd. Searching for reassurance, some final urging or confirmation that she was doing the right thing? He could tell she was unable to spot whoever she was searching for in the crowd.
Unconsciously, he tapped the toe of his boot. The girl saw and seemed to shrink away from him even further. Embarrassed now, he loudly cleared his throat. Smiling broadly and tilting his head, he laughed aloud, while motioning her forward. She peered up at him clearly deep in thought, still unsure.
Then with a final, almost furtive glance away from the bearded old man, she climbed the last of the steep steps. Crossing the short carpeted walkway surprisingly quickly, she bent and placed her small shopping bag on the floor next to his big shiny black boots. With some difficulty, and while firmly pushing his hand away as he reached to assist her, she finally crawled up onto his lap.
He waited quietly as she adjusted her position twice, moving her little purse from hand to hand three times, before finally settling down. Even then he could tell she still wasn’t comfortable perched on his thigh.
Once more looking up, she seemed to study the old mans face. As if she were measuring him in some way. Surprised by his own reaction, he almost felt embarrassed at the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes peered intently up into his, then swept the crowd twice more before settling on her own clasped hands.
He waited, then bit his tongue once more in order to keep from asking her to hurry along. It was after all, getting quite late in the day. Even one blessed with abundant patience, as he was, could find it wearing thin.
Glancing out once more upon the long line of others waiting their turn on his lap, he sighed quietly. The line snaked from the roped off area in front of his elevated stage, way out beyond the ribbon-wrapped marble pillars. Winding crookedly down the hallway all the way back to the grand main entrance, far off in the distance.
He resisted glancing at his wristwatch, glinting incongruously on his forearm, halfway between the fur-trimmed jacket sleeve and the black velvet, gauntlet gloves. But with a furtive glance across the hallway he could glimpse the face of the big grandfather clock on display in the the jewelry store. Yes, he could tell there would surely be another unhappy group turned away unseen, at closing time tonight.
He’d been doing this job a long time. Listening to the same questions, taking similar requests and offering much the same comforting thoughts for many years now. He was good at it! But recently, each year seemed the busiest one ever. It wasn’t so much that there were more people or more children coming to talk with him. But that they somehow wanted..., more!
These days children often came to him with lengthy, typewritten lists in hand!
Her gaze at last steadied on his face. Intuitively he knew this child is different. He sensed deep thoughts swirling in her mind before she spoke. He had time to wonder about who had raised this thoughtful child. Looking out quickly over the crowd, he saw a young woman near the front. Kneeling, eyes closed, hands clasped on her knee. A serenity on her face made clear she was the mother of this grave little girl.
Instead of asking his usual hackneyed questions..., he waited.
At last she spoke, “I’d like one thing for Christmas, Santa! My Daddy is away fighting a war. Mommy says he can come home when the war stops. All I want for Christmas is Peace!”
Santa couldn’t answer.
I Don’t Know About You..., Sometimes even one thing is too much to ask.
Cal Teeple, Observational Cogitation Consortium founder may still be found three stools down. And At: www.wayneindependent.com/cal Or At: calteeple@gmail.com He may be contacted, ignored or accosted in all three.
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She looked so stern, grim even, as she stepped through the opening between the velvet roped posts. Moving slowly toward him from her spot at the head of the long line, even her gait seemed unsure as she approached. Stopping finally just below where he was seated on the sparkling, raised dais, she glanced furtively up at him, then quickly back down to a spot just in front of her toes.
From the comfort of his big overstuffed, green armchair he waited, growing somewhat impatient. Usually at this point, having waited an interminable length of time in that noisy line, children fairly raced up the steps and onto his lap! In this little girls case, he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was even going to ascend the steps to where he waited, or not?
Twisting nervously, she turned away yet again, glancing tentatively back toward the colorfully dressed crowd. Searching for reassurance, some final urging or confirmation that she was doing the right thing? He could tell she was unable to spot whoever she was searching for in the crowd.
Unconsciously, he tapped the toe of his boot. The girl saw and seemed to shrink away from him even further. Embarrassed now, he loudly cleared his throat. Smiling broadly and tilting his head, he laughed aloud, while motioning her forward. She peered up at him clearly deep in thought, still unsure.
Then with a final, almost furtive glance away from the bearded old man, she climbed the last of the steep steps. Crossing the short carpeted walkway surprisingly quickly, she bent and placed her small shopping bag on the floor next to his big shiny black boots. With some difficulty, and while firmly pushing his hand away as he reached to assist her, she finally crawled up onto his lap.
He waited quietly as she adjusted her position twice, moving her little purse from hand to hand three times, before finally settling down. Even then he could tell she still wasn’t comfortable perched on his thigh.
Once more looking up, she seemed to study the old mans face. As if she were measuring him in some way. Surprised by his own reaction, he almost felt embarrassed at the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes peered intently up into his, then swept the crowd twice more before settling on her own clasped hands.
He waited, then bit his tongue once more in order to keep from asking her to hurry along. It was after all, getting quite late in the day. Even one blessed with abundant patience, as he was, could find it wearing thin.
Glancing out once more upon the long line of others waiting their turn on his lap, he sighed quietly. The line snaked from the roped off area in front of his elevated stage, way out beyond the ribbon-wrapped marble pillars. Winding crookedly down the hallway all the way back to the grand main entrance, far off in the distance.
He resisted glancing at his wristwatch, glinting incongruously on his forearm, halfway between the fur-trimmed jacket sleeve and the black velvet, gauntlet gloves. But with a furtive glance across the hallway he could glimpse the face of the big grandfather clock on display in the the jewelry store. Yes, he could tell there would surely be another unhappy group turned away unseen, at closing time tonight.
He’d been doing this job a long time. Listening to the same questions, taking similar requests and offering much the same comforting thoughts for many years now. He was good at it! But recently, each year seemed the busiest one ever. It wasn’t so much that there were more people or more children coming to talk with him. But that they somehow wanted..., more!
These days children often came to him with lengthy, typewritten lists in hand!
Her gaze at last steadied on his face. Intuitively he knew this child is different. He sensed deep thoughts swirling in her mind before she spoke. He had time to wonder about who had raised this thoughtful child. Looking out quickly over the crowd, he saw a young woman near the front. Kneeling, eyes closed, hands clasped on her knee. A serenity on her face made clear she was the mother of this grave little girl.
Instead of asking his usual hackneyed questions..., he waited.
At last she spoke, “I’d like one thing for Christmas, Santa! My Daddy is away fighting a war. Mommy says he can come home when the war stops. All I want for Christmas is Peace!”
Santa couldn’t answer.
I Don’t Know About You..., Sometimes even one thing is too much to ask.
Cal Teeple, Observational Cogitation Consortium founder may still be found three stools down. And At: www.wayneindependent.com/cal Or At: calteeple@gmail.com He may be contacted, ignored or accosted in all three.
