Magic

Originally published July 24th, 2010. 

I knew a man who was magic personified.
 
Many little kids believe in Santa Claus while growing up, and I was no different. The only difference, is that I had my own personal Santa Claus. I knew he was the real one. His cheeks were always the perfect shade of pink, he wore bells around his wrists, his blue eyes sparkled, and his smile never faded. He was the real deal. I knew all of those Santas at the malls were just helpers, since the real Santa was busy up at the North Pole, getting ready for Christmas. Yet, he was never too busy to visit my brother Tim, and me.

Every year, a couple weeks before Christmas Day, he would show up, always unexpectedly for Tim and myself. Sometimes it was close to bedtime, other times it would be on a weekday afternoon. My brother and I always wanted to follow him out of our house when he left to watch him fly off the roof, being carried away by eight magical reindeer - but my parents always stopped us, the magic wouldn't work if we were watching, they said.

Tim answering the door to one of Santa's surprise visits.

Our Santa was also very crafty, just as Santa should be. He was very good at making things out of wood. One year, my brother had asked for a train set for Christmas, and when he came by for his pre-Christmas visit, he brought Tim a train whistle made out of wood. A few years later, I had asked for a doll house, and when he stopped by a couple weeks prior to the holiday, he brought me a wooden dining room set, perfectly sized to fit in a doll house. It was magical.

There was a brief year when I was a little unsure about this guy, but I came around.

My Santa gave the warmest hugs. He smelled so wonderful too, sweet and pepperminty, just as you would expect Santa to smell. It was better than meeting any movie star or celebrity; I was good friends with the SANTA.

Tim getting a hug from Santa.

Going over my wish list.

So who was my Santa? His real name was Bob Comingore. My mom found him through an ad in the newspaper in 1985, and hired him to play Santa at our house for all of the neighborhood kids. They all got along so well, that he kept up the part, year after year, even coming to visit us each time we moved to a new home, in a new city, no matter how far of a drive it was for him in his red truck (not a sleigh with reindeer).

Bob and his wife, Gloria were probably in their sixties when Bob became our personal Santa Claus. Though they were never able to have children of their own, they loved kids, and after I found out who he really was, they both became like a third set of grandparents to me. I admit, the first time we had them over for dinner as the Comingores, it was a bit strange for me, but Bob had a light and warmth inside of him so enveloping, that I couldn't help but be captivated by his presence. As Santa, Bob brought so much magic and fun to my childhood, and I hope he knew how much he meant to me.

In August 2005, shortly after my brother got married, I wrote Bob and Gloria a letter. I hadn't talked to them in awhile, and I thought they would get a kick out of hearing that the little boy they had known from the time he was three, was now a husband. I never got a response. A few months later, my mom heard from Gloria, and she relayed the sad news that only a couple weeks before I had written that letter, Bob had passed away. I was heartbroken at his passing.

Bob Comingore was a truly special human being; people like him are few and far between. He was just a genuinely kind, warm-hearted person. When I think back on my childhood, having my own Santa Claus, and all of the wonderful memories he gave me is something I will never, ever forget.

Gloria is still alive, and lives in Oregon, near a nephew of theirs. Earlier this year, she mailed my mom a box full of wooden toys that Bob had made before he passed. Most of the toys were little cars, although there was also an adorable wooden airplane that my brother's daughter now has. These wooden toys are so simple, yet they hold so much meaning for me. I can imagine Bob carving them with patience and care, and smiling at the thought of the little children who would enjoy them. I love when my sons play with the cars; I can't wait for the day when I can tell them all about the great man I knew. My only regret now is that Bob never got to play Santa to my own kids, so I am especially grateful for these toy cars, as they are a link from him to my children.

A few years ago, my mom gave me this figurine, to always remind me of the joy my Santa brought to me as a little girl.
I put it out every Christmastime, and whenever I see it, it reminds me of the wonderful man who brought so much magic to my childhood.

Elf on a Shelf

Christmas was always magical for me as a kid. My parents went all out in talking up Santa and his elves. I have written about our own personal Santa, who was so believable and awesome that I literally believed in Santa until I was 10. In fact, if my mom hadn't told me the truth I would probably still believe in him today.

Not only did we have our own Santa though, but we had our own elf. Ohhh yes. His name was Elmo, and, according to my dad, (who claimed he saw him once, OMG!), Elmo had red hair and very red cheeks. We never saw Elmo, ourselves, but every December, it never failed, we would hear this high-pitched, delirious giggle ring through the house, and my mom would tell us we needed to hide because Elmo was at our house, and we weren't allowed to see him. So we would hide, and a few minutes later, my mom would give us the all clear, and then we would go through the house looking for the little presents he would leave for us.

It was never anything big, usually something like a toothbrush or toothpaste, but the fact that Elmo, Santa's Elf brought it for us all the way from the North Pole, made it that much more special.

I like to think that our family was unique in that we had our own elf, but nowadays, any kid can have one: it's called Elf on a Shelf. And it kind of makes me wonder why my own parents didn't invent it themselves. It's a small elf doll, that arrives every December to keep an eye on the kids in the house. Every night he reports back to Santa on whether the kids are being good or bad, and since the elf leaves every night, when he arrives back the next morning, he, of course, needs to be in a new location.

Every family gets to name their elf. Ours is Sprinkles.

He's been in some funny places this month. I'll admit there have been a few mornings where I think Sprinkles got a little lazy and forgot to move to a new location, so he would covertly jump to a new place while the kids ate breakfast.

Our boys are still a little young to fully understand all of this Santa/Elf stuff, but they enjoy looking for Sprinkles each morning, in fact, that's usually the first thing they ask me. "Where's Sprinkles?!" And then they race around the house until they find him.

Here are a few places the boys have awakened to find Sprinkles this month:

On a picture frame

Hanging outside their bedroom door

On the TV

On the coat rack

On a curtain rod

On the Christmas tree

In a stocking

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the chandelier

 The boys have really had a better understanding of Christmastime, and opening presents this season. Sprinkles has played a big part in encouraging them to be interactive in the festivities. It makes me that much more excited for next year, I think they will really be into all the fun and magic that Christmas has to offer.

Now I'm off to drink my weight in egg nog and peppermint white chocolate martinis while it is still socially acceptable for a few more days. Merry Christmas, everyone!