The Real Santa

00:00:10
Speaker 1: And we continue with our American stories. And it’s Christmas season, and we’re delivering you Christmas stories. Next, we have Roger Latham from Fort Worth, Texas, telling us a Christmas story. He’s titled “The Real Center.” Let’s take a listen.

00:00:28
Speaker 2: It was a Monday evening when, while driving home from the office on a cold December day, I turned on the local radio station, eager to listen to some Christmas music. I heard being seeing “White Christmas,” Nat Offer “Old Holy Night,” and Elvis paint the color of blue things fluffy snow. It was great. Then came a break in the melodic melodies of the season, and an announcer came on the air: “Hope you all ready for a wonderful Christmas and that our music is helping create the magic of the season.” One family in our city is, however, in need of some help. He called in today and told us his eight-year-old son asked Santa for a bicycle, and then he had no money to buy one. “Can anyone help? If there is a Santa in our audience, please call?” He gave the number. His words were a bold pulled across my Christmas Stradivarius, and I called, “Hello?” “I’ll provide the bike. Where’s it gold?” The man on the radio thanked me and gave me the address. I scribbled it on a scrap of paper in my front seat. On the following Friday, as my eight-year-old son and I were watching some television, my precocious ten-year-old daughter entered the room and offered a grand pronouncement: “I figured it out!” Her statement came with a strong-willed conviction of adolescence. “Oh, really? What if you figured it out now, darling?” “There is no Santa. It’s you and Mom.” I glanced at my son to Gage’s reaction. The look on his face portrayed a mix of shock, concern, and a touch of panic. His older sister had just violated the ancient rules of Santa Claus. I had to think fast. Being a salesman by trade and well versed into spelling the objections of the disbelieving, I mustered a quick retort: “Sweetie, you’re wrong. Sata Israel, and I’ll introduce you to him tomorrow.” She scoffed with a snort and left the room. On Saturday, I loaded the family of my Honda, and we headed to the Northeast Mall. As we entered Sears, Candy said, “I’ve already been to see this Santa. I remember I sat on his lap, told him what I wanted.” “That’s not the real Santa,” I said. “Okay, now, you kids, go pick out the best boy bike you can find, one that an eight-year-old boy about your brother’s size would like.” In ten minutes, they returned with a shiny red bike sporting a banana seat and raised handlebars. “How’s this, Dad?” my son asked. “Do you like it?” “That’s all that matters. Now go pick out another nice gift you’d like to receive from Santa.” They scurried off and picked another present and returned with a large remote-control truck. I paid for the merchandise, and we headed to the car. It was time to make our way to the classroom and a tutorial on the real Santa. The apartment complex was easy to find. It sat in the sedious part of Arlington, Texas. The cars parked on the street were to lapids, in desperate need of major dent repair and gallons of paint. Upon finding the right address, I parked and loaded the vehicle of kids, bike, and truck. “Okay, Daughter, you rolled a bike and let your brother carry the truck.” Arriving at the apartment door, I knocked. Moments past, and a man the size of a Dallas Cowboys lineman – must have been six foot five, two hundred and ninety pounds – swung open the door. “Boy, you lost or something? This ain’t exactly your part of town.” His gruff tone softened as he noticed the bike. “What’s that?” “A babe in a manger sent me over and told me to bring this bike,” I said. I motioned for my son and disbelieving daughter to deliver the bike in the toy. As they did, the giant man, whose name I never learned, seemed to melt before my eyes, tears down his face, and he hugged me. Then the kids. “Thank you, sir, this is a fine blessing.” He then turned to the kids: “Thank you, too, my little ones, and Merry Christmas.” His voice broke. Without further discussion, Santa and his troop of elves bidit a Merry Christmas ide and headed back to the car. With everyone now installed and buckled in, it was time for me to finish the lesson. “So, dear Daughter, is Santa real?” Her eyes were teary, and she stammered, “Yes, yes, yes, Daddy, it’s you!” “No, Sweetie. Santa Claus is a spirit dwelling in every man and woman of good faith who do for others that which they cannot do for themselves. One day, I expect you and your brother to show the world your Santa.” My children, now in their forties, still believe and will one day teach my grandchildren how about today they met the real Santa, passing on their understanding of Christmas, the real Christmas. Merry Christmas to all and made the spirit of Santa bless us all this year.

00:06:18
Speaker 1: And a great job on the production by Greg Hangler, and a special thanks to Roger Latham from Fort Worth, Texas, for sharing this story. And we can see it; we can conjure it in our heads. That is the power of spoken word. In the end, the pictures are better because they’re yours. And that moment where the sort of gruff guy just starts breaking down and crying, and then going back to the car and asking his daughter – his kids – “Is Santa real?” And that daughter with tears in her eyes saying, “Yes, yes, yes,” and the ending, it’s so beautiful. “I expect you and your brother to show the world your Santa.” And my goodness, yes, the American people. We show our Santa to the world every year. Four hundred and fifty billion dollars a year we give. That’s more than the GDP of almost all the countries in the world. But for thirty, and we give away even more impressively, nine billion hours of our time. The story of Roger Latham, the real Santa. Here on Our American Stories. Lee Habib here, and I’d like to encourage you to subscribe to Our American Stories on Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, Spotify, or wherever you get our podcasts. Any story you missed or want to hear again can be found there daily again. Please subscribe to the Our American Stories podcast on Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, or anywhere you get your podcasts. It helps us keep these great American stories coming.