In the 1970s, my parents owned a big, old home on Route 9 in Ocean View. It was a two-story structure set back from the road with a long unpaved driveway that ended at the tree line behind it. With two fireplaces, a tall Christmas tree on each floor and a spacious dining room, it was the ideal spot for our family to gather on Christmas Eve.
Christmas Eve has always been our family’s favorite day of the year. With the anticipation in the air and my Italian mother’s Seven Fish Dinner on the table, young and old were in high spirits that evening. Gathering with my parents to celebrate were my four siblings and me, spouses and small children.
While the women cleaned up the monumental mess that preparing seven seafood dishes can leave in its wake, the men chatted around the living room fireplace and the kids played hide and seek, thoroughly enjoying all the nooks and crannies of an old house.
Suddenly one of the children shrieked, “It’s snowing!” Our family is the rare breed that are bona fide snow junkies. We all abandoned what we were doing and rushed to the kitchen windows. It was true! Big fluffy flakes had begun falling. Snow on Christmas Eve! What could make this holiday any more perfect?
Perhaps Santa appearing at the entrance to the driveway, walking through the snowflakes with a sack on his back? The kids erupted into full-blown hysteria. The adults stared through the windows with their jaws agape. “It’s Matt,” my husband whispered in my ear.
Our dear friend Matthew played the role of Santa well because he was a real-life goodwill ambassador. A man who loved to joke, smile and make people happy. He owned a realistic Santa suit because making the rounds on Christmas Eve was a habit he developed since he and his wife and most of their friends began raising families.
Santa parked his sleigh on Route 9 so that all we saw was him materializing out of the snow. Being familiar with my parents’ house, he knew to come to the back door. He gave us a hearty ho-ho and a wink and assured the stunned children that this was simply a short visit so he could say hello to them.
“I’ll stop by your houses when you’re asleep,” he told them, “but I brought you each a small toy that you can play with until bedtime.” Matt then proceeded to reach in his sack for small, practical gifts he had brought each of the adults. Then he waved goodbye as he walked back into the snow, telling the kids that he had to hurry as he had many more stops to make.
As the kids ripped their toys out of the packages, we adults stood around each other with tears in our eyes. Matthew had brought the joy of Christmas that we had left behind in childhood back into our grownup lives.
That night was 45 years ago. My parents are gone and their beautiful old house is now a bank. Two of my siblings are no longer with us. And we lost our favorite Santa several years ago. But if you ask those of us who remain what our most magical Christmas memory is, we’ll respond to a person, “It was the Christmas Eve Santa came to call.”
