Christmas Eve, Santa Claus was standing in front of the train station in our small exurban town. We were all in the car in our Christmas best headed to the Christmas Eve party my husband�s family throws every year. We were stopped at the extra-long light where Main street meets the busy road, the one passed for a highway before the invention of the interstate. I pointed out the man in red to AJ. He looked both excited and alarmed.

�What�s Santa doing at the train station?� Several feelings were wrapped up in that question. Was there some kind of problem? Was he coming to our house early and were we missing him?

�Maybe his sleigh broke down,� I suggested, �and he�s taking the train while they fix it.�

AJ nodded.

�Or maybe,� I suggested, �it�s not the real Santa. Maybe it�s a man in a Santa costume.�

AJ looked again. �No, it�s the real Santa. Did you see his beard?�

I had to admit that the beard looked real. The light turned green and we left Santa behind.

* * * * *

The party was the usual assortment of relatives crammed into the usual uncomfortable positions along hallways and in front of tables groaning with food. AJ ran the gauntlet of family like a pro. We�d practiced at home:

�So, AJ, what do you do if Aunt M. comes up to you and says, �Hello, Little AJ, come give your Aunt M. a hug!��

AJ looked at his shoes. �I give her a hug.�

�Good job. Do you remember who Aunt M. is?�

�No.�

I wonder if I�ve just taught AJ to hug strangers when they ask him to. I am concerned for a minute, but decide this is a problem best handled another day.

* * * * *

I spent most of the party trying to rack my brains for the names of the younger family members. I�ve been around this family for enough years that I�ve got my mother-in-law�s and my husband�s generations pretty much down. But the kids are another matter. They are mostly girls who largely look and dress alike. I see them once or twice a year and I�m never sure whom I�m talking to. As an added challenge, this year�s hosts had invited a few friends as well. I felt like it was a test � family? Or friend? What happens if I pick the wrong one?

* * * * *

Later in the evening, after we�d all eaten far too much, discussion of who was to play Santa began. After a number of refusals, AJ�s uncle agreed to do it. AJ is the youngest child in the family by several years and the only child still a true believer in Mr. Claus. The aunts worried around the kitchen table. �Why can�t they get someone else?� �Why won�t N. do it?� �Did anyone ask S.?� �Poor little AJ. He�ll figure it out.� �How are you going to explain it?� Mr. Spy added, �Oh, AJ will know for sure.�

�No he won�t,� I said almost confidently. �He�s so convinced that it won�t occur to him that it�s anyone but the real thing.�

* * * * *

Rumors started flying that Santa was coming. AJ camped out between the fireplace and the front door to make sure he didn�t miss anything. �Do you think they put out the fire in the other fireplace? What if he comes that way?� AJ fretted.

�I�m sure Santa will figure out how to get in. I bet he only uses the chimney when people are sleeping and there�s no one to open the door.�

With a jingling of bells and some ho-ho-hos, Santa was swept in by such a crowd of children, that it was impossible to tell through which door he had entered.

�Ho-ho-ho,� he said, heaving his sack, a large black Hefty bag, to the ground and collapsing into a chair. �My reindeer left me at the Metra station and I had to walk with all these toys.� AJ leaned into my ear. �You see? It really was Santa at the train station!�

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