Christopher Tremont was born to be a department store Santa Claus. From the moment he popped out of the womb, he was different from other children. Christopher was tall and big boned. He had round, rosy apple cheeks and bright, shining eyes. As he grew to manhood, his youthful mane of golden curls became a pre-maturely grey mass of thick, wavy hair. His physique gradually lost its muscle tone and his previously flat stomach became a jiggling paunch that he would hold whenever he laughed… which was often. By the time he was in his forties, he had a full white beard and mustache that framed his twinkling baby blues and luscious ruby red lips like those in a Man Ray painting. His voice resonated with a calming timber.
Christopher’s family had nicknamed him KK for Kris Kringle when he was a toddler and the affectionate appellation stuck. During his years as a marketing director, his co-workers took to calling him KK as well, especially during the holiday season when his thought provoking ads for greeting cards garnered CLIO awards galore. The message to be kind to one another was always center to the advertising campaigns he designed.
When Christopher retired at the age of 68, it seemed a natural transition for him to assume the role of the jolly old elf during the November/December Christmas season. His position at Macy’s Fifth Avenue was guaranteed the minute he walked through the door to Human Resources. The fact that he loved children and they loved him secured a lifetime contract.
Christopher knew that some children were frightened by the big man in the red suit so he went out of his way to speak softly and encouragingly to all the little ones who came to visit him. One day, a little boy named John was dragged onto Christopher’s lap by his overbearing mother. John was crying so hard that he could not catch his breath and he began to hiccup. Santa… Chris… tried to console him but John ran away and, before his mother could catch him, disappeared into the crowd. Chris was deeply concerned. He took an early break and set off in search of the frightened child.
The toy department seemed a good place to start. Walking slowly up and down the aisles, Chris called John by name. Silence filled his ears. He was just about to give up when he heard a familiar sound. Hiccup! Hiccup! A smile spread quickly across Chris’ face. Getting awkwardly down on his hands and knees, he peeked inside the pup tent where John was hiding. There he sat, tears still rolling down his cheeks.
Seeing Chris, John’s eyes grew wide with fear, but when Chris asked if he could come inside, the boy surprisingly shook his head “Yes.” In a soft and soothing voice, Chris began to recite the story of The Night Before Christmas. John listened with rapt attention. By the time Chris said the memorable words, “And to all a good night,” the boy was snuggled in his lap… but he was not smiling.
“What is wrong, little man,” Chris asked?
“I ran away. My mom will be angry. Now, you won’t bring me anything for Christmas.”
“Oh, you do not need to worry about that,” said Chris. “Santa has been known to have a very poor memory.”
