FOUR IF BY SEA

DEAR SANTA

A Holiday Miracle

BY AMANDA MCDANEL

THE START OF A NEW SCHOOL YEAR BRINGS ALL TYPES OF ANXIETY for both children and their parents, particularly during these pandemic times – but when my oldest daughter, Harbor, was entering fourth grade, I was especially nervous. Not only because she was graduating to “the upstairs” of her local elementary school, which is reserved for the upper two grades, but more because of what her teacher mentioned about the milestones associated with that step up during a pre-school year conference.

According to said teacher, fourth grade was the year of sex and Santa – the time when those two sacred topics officially dominate lunch table conversations and become prime playground fodder. In my mind, those are also the two subjects that begin to predominantly haunt a parent’s soul as the inevitable white flag of puberty starts to wave, and memories of midnight feedings, diaper changes and first steps flash by in sequence.

Is this the year we introduce these adult truths after all? I wondered, along with: Where did my baby go?

During that tender year of pre-adolescence, I had also scheduled a surprise mother-daughter trip to New York City to see the sights and celebrate the holiday season – a follow-up to our first Christmas visit three years prior, which both inspired Harbor’s obsession with the bright lights, big city and came with a short to-do list: to see Santa at Macy’s.

As promised, Macy’s Santaland was magical during that initial visit, with a line that wove through snow scenes, talking trees, icicles and holiday trains until we eventually reached the entrance to Santa’s workshop. From there, an elf personally escorted us back to a private workshop where we were greeted by Santa himself. With a jolly laugh, a sparkling disposition and real whiskers, that Santa made all of my daughter’s Christmas dreams come true. We both had tears in our eyes as we left with hearts full of the holiday spirit.

While planning a second trip a few years later, I asked Harbor what was on her new to-do list since she was older and had already experienced a variety of the city’s charm. Without hesitation, she declared that she wanted to visit the American Girl doll store and to see Santa at Macy’s. Again.

My heart immediately screamed internal cheers. She believes! We still have the Christmas magic! Her teacher’s words echoed in my ears, however, and I approached our set appointment time at Macy’s with caution.

The Santaland wonder we remembered was still evident in the long line leading up to his workshop, where we were regaled once again with skating penguins and the same snowy train-scape. But as I anxiously awaited the arrival of our personal elf, I felt a tinge of foreboding in my motherly instincts – which was slowly confirmed when a clearly overworked elf on the tail end of a magicmaking bender deposited us near the final workshop door.

As I peered over the shoulders of the group in front of us, my first instinct was to run. This “Santa” looked straight out of the scene in Miracle on 34th Street when Mrs. Walker has to fire a drunken imposter in a filthy red suit right before the big parade. His suit was rumpled, ill-fitting and dirty, but it was ultimately his face that caused the most horror: Not only was he decidedly not a jolly old elf, his faux beard and eyebrows gaped at the sides where they were barely attached with visibly peeling glue.

I desperately wanted to shield Harbor’s eyes and run the other way shouting, “You smell like beef and cheese! You sit on a throne of LIES!” Yet, with nowhere to go, we proceeded forward, and I cringed during the entire four minutes my precious firstborn sat on the pretender’s lap. Yes, she had been good. Yes, she would like an American Girl doll. But despite much of her outward appearance, the watery look in her eyes and her wavering smile told all.

When we finally walked away, her tears began to brim in earnest. “Mommy, I don’t know if I believe that Santa’s real,” she whispered as those tears fell like fat raindrops. Damn you Macy’s, I thought. You’re the biggest department store in the world, and you sent someone from your C-list to work that day. We both promptly sat down in the middle of the store’s petites section and cried, this time without joy. Upon returning home, I became determined not to let Santa go down like that. Here on the Outer Banks we’re fortunate enough to have not one, but two, local heroes who faithfully step up to play Santa every year – which they do proudly and selflessly with huge hearts, impeccable costumes and authentically white beards. While the men most commonly known as “Duck Santa” and “Manteo Santa” are both exceptional, Le Hook in Manteo is a social acquaintance, so I reached out to him directly to explain the situation – begging him to do whatever he could during a pre-arranged visit with Harbor later that week. When we walked into the Christmas Shop in Manteo a few days later, I held my breath as both my daughters approached him. “I heard you met one of my helpers in New York City,” Le/Santa exclaimed without prompting when he caught sight of them, and I let out a huge sigh. Harbor’s eyes instantly lit up, and I knew I had found my Christmas miracle.

A few months later, I was standing in line at a local supermarket when I noticed a man with a long white beard and a bomber jacket waiting behind me. After getting over the initial shock of seeing Le in his street clothes, I quickly asked the cashier to add a grocery gift card to my bill. I had already known that I was going to be forever grateful to Le for pulling off that bit of childhood magic, but in that moment, I also realized that I had the perfect opportunity to repay his kindness.

“Thank you, Santa,” I said as I handed him the gift card. “This dinner’s on me.”

The McDanel girls with the real-deal Manteo Santa.