Uncle Santa Claus

Once a year

From a very young age

I used to wait up hoping to meet a magical being

A man with a laugh as low and bellowing as earthquake rhapsodies

But as warm and inviting as hearth fires 

Come Christmas time, 

Boyhood wonder presided over logic and rationale 

And I’d sit in silence

In portable pews with 4 airbags and and a seat heater

While my home travelled 80 miles an hour 

But my destination held a bellowing laugh and warm faces

So I spent road trip sermons waiting to meet a red faced mr almighty

With a sack full of memories and lessons codified by lectures

And a smile as bright as the future he would say he saw in you

Every Christmas I drove hours to meet my own Santa clause clad father figure

His arms were so open you could fit your whole life’s story between the palms of his embrace

And felt the acceptance and understanding radiate from fingertips to soothe the flaws you saw in the reflection of his holiday cheer filled eyes

His gifts came in conversation as frequently as frills and ribbons

“If you always talk, you may not get to listen to the important things”

“It’s always crucial to know what you want from what you need”

“Never tell someone anything is forever, you never know when you won’t be able to take it back”

The last one is never truer than in this coming Christmas 

This Christmas my childhood won’t board the car

The road trip will be measured in miles passed instead of time until reunion

This Christmas

My Santa Claus has retired his robe

Put his pina colada elixir in the photo books rather than red solo cups

And the blu Ray player won’t spin like pendulum swings counting down hours until night becomes morning again

We all have to grow up sometime

And see the people behind the legends

I believed in Santa Claus until Christmas died in mid July 2018

At 21 years of age I was forced to confront the man behind the myths

I never saw him nursing each egg nog

Didn’t smell the spirits in his smile or liquor in his laughter

I was too drunk on childhood Christmas memories to see the flaws in his costume

My uncle was imperfect

He was broken and bound to late night bottles

But never stopped to ask for help

We never saw him slip from treading to drowning in the drinks he ordered

My uncle was Santa Claus