Santa's call

Jackson received a call from Santa the other night. This was something I had arranged through our county’s parks and recreation department. Parks and rec provides you with an online form to fill out with information about your child and a time you’ll be home. Then on the chosen night a woman calls, identifying herself as an operator from the North Pole, and says she has Santa on the phone for your child.

A form must be filled out for each child; I only filled out one for Jackson that just happened to include the names and ages of his siblings. But after speaking to Jackson for a few minutes Santa asked if he could speak with Sam. Because, to Santa, Clara at the age of one and a half was too young to talk on the phone but, clearly, an almost 5 year old would be jumping at the chance. So dutifully, with phone in hand, Jackson began walking over to Sam, who was busy yelling and growling in typical Sam fashion. The impending scene began to play out in my head. Jackson holds the phone up to Sam’s ear, Santa begins a conversation and Sam growls deafeningly into the phone. The jolly old man, alarmed by the satanic sounds coming through the phone, clutches his chest while falling to the floor and we’ve just ruined Christmas for children everywhere.

“Wait, Jackson,” I call. “Just tell Santa that Sam can’t talk right now.”

Jackson does as he’s told and the conversation with Santa is wrapped up soon after.

When he’s off the phone Jackson excitedly recounts all the details of his chat with Santa.

“He also told me not to pick on Clara anymore.”

“Really,” I say trying to sound surprised since that was info I had included on the form.

“And to remember to pick my clothes up off the floor and put them in my hamper.”

“Huh. Well, it sounds like that Santa knows what he’s talking about.” I say.

“Yeah, it’s just too bad Sam couldn’t talk to him,” Jackson says with such a deep disappointment that I’m silenced for a few moments.

I pull him close to me for a hug and at that point I’m not sure who is comforting whom. I manage my own sadness over Sam pretty well on a daily basis, but I’m still not very good at managing my sadness over Jackson’s sadness of his brother and all the typical stuff that Sam misses out on. And one day soon Clara may start realizing that Sam has a much harder life than the rest of us and she will probably be sad, too. And this thought makes me very, very sad.

Soon after the event I realize what I should have done when Santa asked to speak to Sam. I should have gotten on the phone myself just to give Santa a heads up before letting him wish Sam a very merry Christmas. But I’m still learning how to be the parent of a special needs child. Next Christmas I’ll do better.