Our Santa Claus

His face was dry and pitted from the weather, his red suit worn with its once white trim sooty gray. His fake beard was nappy, its elastic stretched so that it barely hugged his face. He rarely spoke, not to us kids at least. He was a tradition within a tradition. He was our Santa Claus.

The Tradition:

Christmas Eve was always spent at my Grandma Boehke's house in Bloomfield, a neighborhood in the city of Pittsburgh. The holiday dinner always consisted of tiny breaded fish called Smelts, angel-hair pasta with Cod cooked into the sauce, a salty garlic laden fish called baccala, calamari, eel, salad, and occasionally tiny octopuses.

Dinner guests would occasionally fluctuate as other family or friends would come and go; but my Grandmother's immediate family members never missed the meal.

Other family members would come to visit after dinner. One couple, Jean and Stanley seemed to always be the first to visit. Jean and my Grandmother were best friends. I'm not sure if we are even really related, but Jean and Stanley were always there. Upon their arrival, my Grandmother and Jean would open a bottle (or two) of wine and sit and talk.

The Tradition within the Tradition:

One year, when I was very young, my father and aunt Debbie decided to "find" a Santa Claus to surprise us kids. I don't know where they found him, but a man dressed in a Santa suit showed up. Our Santa came over, gave us kids trinkets and then sat with my Grandmother and Jean drinking wine and eating Christmas Eve Dinner leftovers. He never removed his suit, nor his beard; instead he opted to pull the beard down with every bite or drink.

The next year, our Santa returned. This time he had a satchel with wrapped toys for all us kids, usually cars for boys and dolls for girls. I remember the adults in my family being more surprised with his visit than the kids, this time he was truly an unexpected (but welcomed) guest. As was the case the year before, he handed out his gifts in the living room and then returned to the kitchen for wine and food.

Over the next decade, year after year our Santa Claus would return. As the young adult members of the family matured and had children of their own amazingly our Santa Claus would have just the right number of gifts for all the kids; even the infants.

Then, the year I was a Freshman in college, our Santa did not show up. We waited and waited, but still no Santa. My father and aunt took a drive to look for our Santa, but returned without him.

That evening many questions were asked, not one could be answered. (This is what makes the story most amazing). Who was Santa? What was his name? Where did he come from? Where did he live? Nobody could give an answer. He was a man who was outside a department store when I was little, he came to visit the first time for a few dollars and the promise of a good dinner, but returned on his own. Being a police officer in the city, my Aunt said she would look into finding the man who played our Santa. She would check at shelters and around the neighborhood, but was unable to get a single clue as to his identity or whereabouts.

Over the next few years we would prepare a plate and eagerly wait for his arrival, but Santa Claus would never return to my Grandmother's house. It is my opinion that the man who had become our Santa Claus either got ill or passed away. His identity has never been determined.

The Conclusion

Shortly after Santa's disappearance, the family tradition of Christmas Eve at my Grandmother's withered due to illness and the passing of family members. As a child I never understood the importance of family traditions, today I do. My wife and I have tried to establish our own practices or customs, but traditions take time to build. I don't think I'll be as brave as my father and aunt, and invite a stranger into our home in hopes of entertaining my son or niece; but I wish I had the opportunity to thank whoever it was that made all those Christmas Eves so memorable.

Thank you Santa Claus, whoever you were.