May it make you smile.

by Rollin Thomas

Bobby was a boy when it got lost. He didn't even make an effort to find it. It just left his mind and then left his life until Bobby had a boy of his own. He still hadn't found it, but he could see his boy had it. His boy had it in quantities he could share with any who wanted what it had to offer.

I keep having to say it because words fall short of any kind of exact description. Some would call it a belief in Santa Claus while others would call it Christmas magic. When I was a boy I called it wonderment, knowing full well that that only touched the part I could see. The part I could feel felt more like love and hot chocolate with marshmallows melting in a steamy mug. It felt like being warm in bed and watching window frost crystals melt at the tip of my finger. It was that place where opposites meet in harmony instead of conflict. It was indescribable joy unhindered by worry or guilt or shame. It was the paradox of pleasure in the joy of others.

Bobby had not only lost it but I'm sure that he couldn't even understand it when his boy bubbled over with it to the point that Bobby had to swat his behind to calm him down. When he did, a bit of it seemed to leave his boy's eyes. Bobby could see it leave and the departure of only a little it caused him to feel sad inside his own eyes. A small salty tear formed that was not big enough to run down his cheeks but it was big enough to run down his tear duct and into the back of his throat. The tear lodged there as a bitter reminder of what was lost of it in that moment with his son.

That night Bobby put up the Christmas tree, decorating the branches with glass orbs, twinkle lights and twisted glass icicles that he had hung on the tree when he was still a boy filled with it. Maybe it was the tear or maybe the memory of it in the sparkle of the icicle, but just for a moment, in the instant of a thought, Bobby remembered it. It so moved him that he got up from his labors and went into his boy's room.

The room was dark except for the Santa nightlight. There was his boy; eyes closed, head on his pillow; the nightlight gleaming in his hair. Bobby marveled at the glow of his boy's face and how peaceful he looked. As he bent to kiss his son's forehead he could smell the freshness of his son's hair mingled with the warmth of the fresh cotton pillowcase. Another tear came to his eye, sweeter than the first, and he remembered a little more of it all over again. And it made him smile.