The Real Santa

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Visit eBay.com for terms. 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 Santa. Let's take a listen. 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 Bing sing White Christmas, Nat off her old holy night, and Elvis paint the color blue on Bing's fluffy snow.

It was great. Then came a break in the melodic melodies of the season and an announcer came on the air. I hope you all are 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 that he had no money to buy one.

Can anyone help? If there is a Santa in our audience, please call. I'll save the number. His words were a bowl pulled across my Christmas Stradivarius, and I called.

Hello? I'll provide the bike. Where does it go? The man on the radio thanked me and gave me the address. I scribbled it on a scrap of paper in my front seat. 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 have you figured out now, darling?

There is no Santa. It's you and Mom. I glanced at my son to gauge his 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 in dispelling the objections of the disbelieving, I mustered a quick retort. Sweetie, you're wrong. Santa is real, and I'll introduce you to him tomorrow.

She scoffed with a snort and left the room. On Saturday, I loaded the family in my Honda, and we headed to Northeast Mall. As we entered, Sears, Candy said, I've already been to see this Santa.

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 seediest part of Arlington, Texas. The cars parked on the street were dilapidated wrecks all in desperate need of major dent repair and gallons of paint. Upon finding the right address, I parked and unloaded the vehicle of kids' bike and truck. Okay, daughter, you roll the bike and let your brother carry the truck. Arriving at the apartment door, I knocked. Moments passed, then a man the size of a Dallas cowboy lineman. Must have been six foot five, 290 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 and the toy. As they did, the giant man whose name I never learned seemed to melt before my eyes.

Tears flowed 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 bid a Merry Christmas adieu 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 you're Santa. My children, now in their 40s, still believe and will one day teach my grandchildren about the day they met the real Santa, passing on their understanding of Christmas, the real Christmas.

Merry Christmas to all and may the spirit of Santa bless us all this year. And a great job on the production by Greg Hengler 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, 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 you're Santa. And my goodness, the American people, we show our Santa to the world every year, $450 billion a year we give.

That's more than the GDP of almost all the countries in the world, but for 30. And we give away, even more impressively, 9 billion hours of our time. The story of Roger Latham, the real Santa here on Our American Stories. Lee Habib here, the host of Our American Stories. Every day on this show, we're bringing inspiring stories from across this great country, stories from our big cities and small towns.

But we truly can't do the show without you. Our stories are free to listen to, but they're not free to make. If you love what you hear, go to OurAmericanStories.com and click the donate button. Give a little, give a lot.

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