A Treasury of Christmas Stories by Editors of Adams Media

Kevin’s Saint
    By Michele Wallace Campanelli
    â€œS ANTA FOR SPECIAL KIDS on tomorrow’s broadcast. See you then.”
    The tag line caught my attention. I raised my head from my book and saw a picture of a waving Santa on the television screen as the news credits rolled by. My heart began to pound. Could this be the Santa I’ve been looking for?
    I picked up the phone and called the station, “That Santa tomorrow, can he communicate with deaf children?” I asked.
    Over the rumble of the newsroom, I heard, “Yes, he’s a retired schoolteacher who signs. He won’t release his name, but he’s scheduled to be at the Memphis city mall tomorrow. We’ll be picking up the story through our affiliate news station.”
    â€œMemphis? You mean Tennessee, not in Florida?”
    â€œYes. Can I help you with anything else?”
    â€œNo, thank you.” I hung up, disappointed.
    Just then Jessica came into the office. Her face changed seeing my expression. “What’s wrong?”
    â€œYou know I love your son like a nephew, right?”
    She smiled. “Of course. You’re his favorite babysitter.”
    â€œWell, I’d like to take him to Tennessee tomorrow to the Memphis mall, where a Santa who knows sign language is scheduled to appear.”
    â€œIt’s really sweet of you to think of Kevin. But he’s six. He doesn’t need to visit Santa Claus anymore. And I’d rather instill in him the true meaning of Christmas, Jesus’ birth, not just exchanging presents.”
    I pled my case, wanting her to know how much it would mean to Kevin. He’d never met a Santa who could understand him. Last year when we’d taken him to our local mall, he’d signed his name to the Santa.
    â€œYes, I’ll bring you that,” the Santa had replied.
    Kevin had cried for hours. He decided Santa didn’t give gifts to children who couldn’t hear and speak. That isn’t good enough , I thought, not for Kevin . He deserved a Santa who could relate.
    â€œYou really want to drive all that way just so he can tell him he wants a Pokemon?”
    â€œSanta isn’t just a man in a red suit,” I explained. “He’s the spirit of giving. He is Jesus’ helper, spreading cheer to all the little girls and boys, even the deaf ones. For the first time, Kevin will believe that Santa knows who he is.”
    She nodded. “Well, all right, we’ll go tonight. Bring a map and your camera.”
    â€œOf course!” I laughed.
    Later in the evening, Kevin piled into the minivan, clutching his pillow.
    His mother signed, “Don’t you want to see Saint Nick?”
    Kevin moved his fingers. “He doesn’t like me unless I write.”
    â€œThat’s not true,” his mother mouthed slowly.
    Soon, Kevin snuggled in his backseat bed as mile after mile drifted by. Palm trees and scrub brush gave way to reddened clay. We drove until the air chilled and the land grew hilly.
    When we arrived at the mall early the next afternoon, Jessica signed to her wide-eyed son, “We’re here.”
    Wiggling in anticipation, he signed, “Do you think Santa cares that I came?”
    I looked around at all the cars and knew enough to nod my head yes.
    Kevin jumped out of the minivan and took his mother’s hand and mine. Together we walked through the crowded walkways to the open courtyard. There, on top of a platform, was an older man with real gray hair. His stomach looked pillow-plumped, but there was no mistaking his outfit of red and white. He sat enthroned next to a sparkling, bedecked Christmas tree.
    His mother gestured, “That’s him, straight from the North Pole.”
    Kevin’s face flushed with excitement at the whole Yule scene. He vaulted up the steps and stood in front of Santa. His mother and I scampered to catch up. By the time we got to Santa’s chair, Kevin was signing, “I’m