The real Santa — through the eyes of a child

If you want to know if there really is a Santa Claus, just ask my nephew Seb. He’ll tell you, or anybody who will listen.

“I saw the REAL Santa Claus — he had a real beard,” he told my aunt Ellen as he jumped up and down in her kitchen, still wearing his hot-chocolate-stained Star Wars Christmas pajamas from the night before.

My mother and I took Seb, who is 4 3/4 years old, to ride The Polar Express in Branson, Missouri, where my aunt and uncle live.

It was my mother’s idea, and she invited me — and paid for my ticket, which wasn’t cheap. The three of us, along with my uncle Thom, were riding first class, I guess, where we got unlimited hot chocolate and cookies.

When I talked to Seb about the trip a week before at his house, I told him we were going to see Santa on the train. “The real Santa?” he asked.

“I think so,” I told him. He fainted right onto the kitchen floor and lay there like a motionless snow angel.

We took off on a dreary morning, which turned sunny as we drove the curvy highway up and down hills. At one point, Seb told me to put my hands up in the air like we were on a roller coaster.

We went to the train station, which was decorated with lighted figures of deer, snowmen and presents. All the children, and some adults, were wearing pajamas.

It was noisy, and one little girl with blond pigtails was crying her eyes out. (I was hoping she wasn’t on our train car.)

We walked through blowing “snow,” and a hobo on the roof yelled down to Seb, “Hey, I like your green jacket — that’s cool!” We boarded the Silver Chef, and our trip to the North Pole began. We got hot chocolate (which was really lukewarm chocolate the first time), and sugar cookies. The chefs amazed Seb by dancing to “Hot Hot Hot” while holding plates of (fake) cups of hot chocolate and cookies. Seb was amazed. “Hey, how do you do that?” Seb asked the chef near us. “Magic,” I told him.

He licked the whipped cream with chocolate shavings off the hot cocoa and spilled cocoa on his pajamas. We easily had the messiest table in the train car.

The conductor read The Polar Express book as the chefs walked up and down the aisle with the books, stopping to show the pictures. “Are we going to see the real Santa or the fake Santa?” Seb asked the one female chef as she stood in front of us with the book. She didn’t hear him, and he said, “You don’t know?”

Jingle the Elf came and handed out a silver bell to each child. Seb said his was broken, so she gave him another one, which he rang with gusto.

The hobo came up, and Seb told him he liked his gloves, which were red and fingerless, and asked where he got them. The hobo said, “Thanks — I got them at Kohl’s.” Seb bumped fists with the hobo, and then Seb said, “Let’s say, ‘Go, Santa!’” and they did it again. Seb told the hobo that he had a baby brother named Barrett and that he helped take care of him.

We looked out the window at lighted displays, and at one point, Seb said, “We’re going over the water — just like in the book!”

When Santa came on board, Seb never took his eyes off him as he made his way down the aisle, stopping to pose for photos and picking up babies.

Seb said, “Are you real?” Santa pinched the skin on his own arm under the heavy red sleeve. “Feel this — does this feel real? Then I’m real. Are you real?” Seb was satisfied.

Carolers danced up the aisle, and we all sang, “We wish you a Merry Christmas!” When the last musician was leaving, Seb called out, “Merry Christmas, man!” and made everyone around us laugh.

Santa appeared again, and I called him over for one more “quick picture,” so he stopped, jumped in and moved back before I could focus. “You’re silly,” Seb told him. “It’s more fun that way!” Santa said as he left.

Then it was time to go on the carriage ride we’d scheduled earlier. We walked off the train through the “snow,” and we drove to the Trail of Lights. Two beautiful Clydesdale horses pulled us in the carriage, and the light displays were wonderful.

In the car on the way home, Seb fell asleep, chocolate on his mouth and whipped cream on the tip of his nose. My uncle carried Seb to bed, where he probably dreamed of trains and elves and the real Santa.

It was a big day for a little boy — and for us, too, because we got to take the magical ride with him.

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.

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