If Santa was awake, you couldn’t tell. He still carried the same slumped over and defeated posture George noticed standing twenty feet away. Up close however he noticed a few more details: a thin layer of dark brown mud on the bottom his boots, intensely blue eyes, and a finely brushed white beard that merged perfectly with the fur of his costume. The man had all the trappings of Santa Claus, but something was missing. George couldn’t help but think of animals at the zoo.
George placed his girls in Santa’s ramshackle embrace: Sophia, ever-adaptable, on the right, sporting a confused half smile, that in future years would be spark numerous light-hearted questions about what George was thinking; and Charlotte on the left, her wide-eyed countenance conveying: I’ve just woken up and am slowly realizing I’m in a very weird place. As the photographer rattled his tambourine and snapped pictures, goading the babies to smile, George tried to puzzle together an explanation for the man despondency. What did he do the other eleven months out of the year? How do you become a professional Santa Claus? It seemed like a job that would require a passion to keep you involved, a passion that this man certainly lacked. The questions were not malicious, but a genuine curiosity for George. Before he could find any answers the pictures were over and Sophia was slowly sliding out of Santa’s hold, down the front of the chair, and onto the floor, until her pants had ridden up to her knees and the back of her shirt to her underarms. She remained there until George stood her up and adjusted her clothes. He held Charlotte, and prompted Sophia to show her appreciation.
Say thank you, Sophia.
Dada.
Good enough. Thank you Santa, enjoy your holidays.
Ohthanyou merrchrimas, hrrmmm
George wasn’t sure if Santa had actually finished his gurgle before falling asleep, but he liked the idea of him falling asleep mid-gurgle. He stepped over to the cashier’s work station and was prompted to pick the picture and package he wanted. Seeing his daughters in the setting brought him unending joy, he was looking at a picture that would soon be an artifact saved for years, shown to relatives, friends, classmates, boyfriends, spouses, and eventually grandchildren. As much as George disliked the faux-sentimentality manipulated into every aspect of American culture, used exclusively for profit and not genuine emotion, he was finding that it was those moments that were having the most profound effect on him as a father, this one notwithstanding. That was until he looked half an inch north at Santa, who, at best, could be described as present. To Santa’s credit, his eyes were open, but his smile left a lot to be desired. It looked more like he was grinding his teeth than smiling; maybe he thought the beard would compensate for the lackluster effort, but it only exaggerated the problem. On top of all of that, Santa was the only unchanging thing in the series. George could understand if he had been smiling at the beginning and trailed off towards the end, but it was as if Santa himself were a picture the girls were getting their picture taken with. He may not have been able to force a complete smile, but he held the incomplete one flawlessly.
The drive home found both girls asleep in their car seats, and George’s thoughts returning to Sad Santa; specifically about the man’s parents, and what role they played in his life. A question he had been wondering about frequently after becoming a father. George began projecting the best possible future for his daughters, then realized he had no concept of what that would look like in twenty years, and conceded that was something for his daughters to decide and for him to facilitate; except, of course, if they wanted to be Mrs. Claus, or a wrestler; unless that’s what they really wanted.
George was able to carry Charlotte in successfully without waking her up. He knew he didn’t stand a chance of that with Sophia, and the thirty minute nap she got in the car would be enough to energize her for the rest of the day. George brought both girls into the playroom, leaving Charlotte in her car seat to nap, and sat down on the floor with Sophia. After a few minutes of digging around her toy chest she revealed a book called, Daddy’s Little Princess, something his mom had unquestionably bought for her. Sophia crawled into his lap with the book in her hands, and opened the cover. George, who was already very skeptical, started reading. The book opened with an illustration of a man holding a newborn baby and read: Today, daddy’s little princess was born. George was doubtful, but he had not prepared him for this level of garbage, and it had only been the first page. He tried to close the book and prompt Sophia for something different, but she had already grabbed the next page and begun turning. The next page was illustrated with the same man standing beside a little girl, holding her hand: Today, daddy’s little princess learned how to walk. Sophia grabbed a handful of pages this time, and turned them in unison, landing on a page with the man waving good bye to a backpacked elementary school girl: Today, was daddy’s little princess’ first day of school. Something began stirring inside George, but before he could check it, Sophia had grabbed and turned again: the man, next to a teenager wearing a cap and gown: Today, daddy’s little princess graduated high school. The image and description sent a severely unexpected torrent of emotion through George’s face, leaving him somewhat shell-shocked, all of a sudden wanting years back that he had missed with daddy’s little princess, feeling cheated. Sophia kept turning the pages: an older version of the man dancing with a woman in a wedding gown, followed by the now-grandfather staring in amazement at the daughter’s newborn baby. George was overwhelmed completely.
Ok, the end! Thank you, Sophia; we’re not going to read that book anymore, ok?
George took a deep breath. Sophia stood up and took a few steps with the book in her hand before she dropped it on the ground in exchange for a blanket. She flung the blanket over her head and started walking in circles, giggling to herself. She yanked the blanket off her head like an amateur magician pulling a tablecloth off a teeming dinner table. Sophia walked behind George, rested her head between his shoulder blades, and hugged his back. In that moment, George could stop worrying about plans, and futures, and what would or would not happen. In the next moment, Sophia buried her face in his back and started making fart noises.