THE MAN
Fully bald since youth with little more than a horseshoe
ring of hair greying around the temples the man presents a rather unassuming appearance. Shoulders slightly hunched,
he strides down the street quite often with his grandson in
tow. Nothing indicates the secret he keeps. The youngster with a hairline eerily reminiscent
of his companion, knows little of the man’s secrets, and doesn’t care. He adores his Papa.
Unless dressed for church the man rarely wears anything but the crimson red of his favorite college. The drum and feather logo of the University of Utah proudly displayed…despite the fact he never set foot in a university classroom. Instead he forged out a living in the printing industry. Relying on basic skills acquired in high school and honed over decades in the trenches he forged out a living running a press. With ink coursing through his veins he now toils in the printing department of that same university. In life and in secret the man cannot hide from that crimson hue.
Life’s promises are hard to keep. Vowing “Hell would freeze over” before he
would marry…turned out to be one of those empty promises. Early in 1986 a storm of tremendous
proportions formed in the sweltering valleys of Hades and on October 11th
the unfathomable fathomed! Taking a
wife is no easy task. The “slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune” temper a marriage over the years. Some succeed, others fail miserably. Five of his six siblings have seen their
marriages crumble. More than thirty years have passed since that fateful
October day when the river Styx turned to ice and the avowed bachelor said “I do”.
Yet the marriage holds strong. Sure there
have been adversities along the way and maybe, just maybe the secret they share
keeps their bond solid.
THE SECRET
By definition his middle name means “lacking the least bit
of courage, contemptibly fainthearted.” “Defeated,
vanquished” an archaic and seldom used term anymore, it is not his secret and
it does not truly portray the man or his lineage. Ancestors bearing the name were gassed in
World War I…hunkered down in the fox holes at Anzio and helped liberate the
Dachau Concentration camp during World War II.
These men were not craven cowards but they were Cravens. While he bears the name Craven we shall see
he is neither vanquished nor defeated.
School work was a struggle and as high school graduation
neared the grades were not there for him to walk with his classmates. Screwing up the courage to correct this
deficiency he turned to tutors and primers building up sufficient proficiency
necessary to graduate on time with his class.
This focus and tenacity would prove essential as his secret plans began
to solidify.
We all have secrets.
Some are taken to the grave while others are shared by only our BFF’s. Some secrets become public knowledge with
little to no fanfare. Some secrets, if
told, would hurt others. They become
burdensome to keep and painful to disclose.
So, what is this secret we have been hearing about?
Long before the world of cosplay and comic world fandom
became the norm; the man’s desire was to play dress up, to enter his own fantasy
world. Not the cross-dressing Ru Paul’s
“Drag Strip” transvestite sort of dress up.
Not the geeky fandom of cosplay.
No, the man wants to be the harbinger of good will, the delight of
children around the world. The man wants
to be SANTA CLAUS!
THE JOURNEY
There are several key players in this story. The man, his wife, and his mother have all
contributed and or colluded in differing ways to help fulfill his wishes.
As a December baby he always had an affinity for the holiday
season.
“What do you want for Christmas?” his mother asked one
winter’s day.
“I want a Santa suit” he replied.
“A what?” queried the mother!
“A Santa Clause suit” he again responded.
At this point the man was still a boy. Barely out of high school filled with the
belief he would make a good Father Christmas but without the bulk needed to properly
fill out a Santa suit.
With a few yards of red velveteen and furry white fluff the
mother set out to fulfill the wishes of her young son. By Christmas the new suit was readied and
wrapped. It would be another year before the boy could
fully benefit from his new outfit.
The years would come and go.
The boy “filled” out into a man and with each passing season the newly
minted Santa would slip out of his crimson and white Ute uniform and into the
red velvet and faux fur of his secret identity, much to the joy of many a young boy and girl. That homemade suit would give way to newer
commercial suits. Along the way a Mrs. Clause outfit was added which his wife
happily donned and joined in the merriment.
For many of these part-time Saint Nick’s this type of
cottage industry serves as a very profitable adventure. But as Paul Harvey would say “and now….
…THE REST OF THE
STORY”
It was one of the first family parties he was asked to
perform at. The room was filled with the
smells of the season, good food, and comradery. With bells jingling and a hearty Ho Ho Ho,
Santa burst into the gathering sending toddlers screaming in fright to their
mother’s welcoming arms and the believing older children staring in awe.
Dipping into his overfilled bag Santa would gather up a
gaily wrapped gift calling out the name of an eagerly waiting recipient. Off to the side he noticed the pretty young
girl with the forlorn look on her face.
Vainly he tried to catch her attention, hoping a wink from Santa would
elicit a smile to her face.
Finally the name Leslie appeared on the package he hauled
out of his bag. Timidly she approached
Santa and shyly climbed upon his lap.
“And what would you like from Santa this Christmas?” asked
the man is his best jolly old elf voice.
With a tear welling up in her eye…the response would forever
change the man’s life.
“I want to live” whispered the girl “I have cancer and I
don’t want to die!”
The cacophony of noise in the room became a hollow buzz. The air escaped his lungs and his own eyes
began to water. Scanning the room he
found the girl’s mother, tears streaming down her cheeks knowing her daughter’s
impossible request.
Trying to regain his composure he gently wrapped his arms
around the little girl and whispered in her ear. What was said is known only to the girl and
her Santa.
A fee had been agreed upon for the man to appear at that
Christmas gathering. When the host tried
to pay he turned the money down asking for it to be given to her favorite
charity instead.
Nobody paid attention to the unassuming man only slightly
showing signs of his soon to be bald head, shoulders slightly hunched as he sat
quietly in the church a few months later.
Speakers talked about life’s promises unfulfilled, dreams never to come
true and hope for an eternal reunion.
Following the funeral services the man sought out a private
conversation with the mother of the girl who would never attend her high school
prom nor would ever actually see her teenage years. Identifying himself as the
Santa Clause on that fateful night, he told the grieving woman how much her
daughter had meant to him and how she had irrevocably changed his life forever.
Three decades have passed since that night. Each Christmas season through the years the
man has stepped into his alter ego and each year the memory of that young girl
fills his mind and heart. Three decades
have passed since that fateful night.
Hundreds of similar gatherings have seen the man don his Santa suit and
bring magic to life for scores of adoring young children. Three decades of young and old sitting on his
lap telling him their desires, wishes, and hopes for the season. Three decades and the man’s services remain
in high demand.
For three decades instead of just padding his belly he could
have padded his bank account. Three
decades and STILL the man DOES NOT charge for his services. Instead he instructs
the people who enlisted him to give the money to their favorite charity. There are a few people who insist he take
their money. Without fuss he will accept
the funds which HE then turns over to the Cancer Society in the name of Leslie…the
girl who set him on his life’s course…a girl who even to this day he can't recall
her last name.
EPILOGUE
You know Dasher and Dancer and Frosty and Rudolph…The
Grinch, the Who’s and the Christmas Shoes.
All tales of pure fantasy and whimsy, however the above story is
true! The man is my younger brother
Roger. His wife Paula is his Mrs. Clause
and from time to time his daughters even dress up as elves to help in the
festivities.
Most of the details came
from my mother who before a stroke just weeks before her 88th birthday still had a keen memory; however I may have
used a little poetic license with some of the facts. He doesn’t know I let the cat out of the bag
in writing about him. It just felt right his story be told and to
let him know how much he means to me.
Besides we always need a little Christmas.
*Abraham Lincoln in his first inaugural address
*Abraham Lincoln in his first inaugural address
