Santa Style

Emily is 13. She doesn’t exactly believe in Santa Claus. But she doesn’t exactly not believe either.

Does that make sense?

It does to me.

It’s Christmas Eve and she hasn’t written her annual Santa letter, but last night she sat up straight in bed and announced, “I have to write my letter to Santa.”

“You can tomorrow,” I said.

“Okay. Okay. Cool.”

She flopped back on her pillows. Her voice became a whisper. “We can burn it, right? Because I don’t want the people at the post office to read it.”

“Yep. We can burn it.”

“Okay,” she murmured. “Okay. Cool.”

I kissed her forehead. “It will be fine, sweetie.”

Like I said, Emily is 13 and she doesn’t exactly not believe.

I know how it feels.

When I was six one of my mom’s friends stood with me outside the parking lot of Calvary Baptist Church. It was night. I’d just seen a red dot move across the sky. It was almost Christmas. Instead of hopping right in the station wagon I pointed at that red dot, jumping up and down on the icy asphalt. “Look! LOOK! It’s Rudolph.”

My friend’s mother stared me down and said, “There is no Rudolph.”

I stopped jumping. “What?”

“There’s no Rudolph.”

“But Santa – ”

“There’s no Santa either,” she said.

I stared her down. “My mom says there’s a Santa.”

“Your mom lied.”

I shook. My best friend watched all this with big eyes.

“No,” I said. “You’re the liar.”

I made my decision right then. I made my decision to believe. I also made my decision to not be invited back to youth group at the Calvary BaptistChurch, and you know what? I’m okay with it.

Right now people are stressing about the holidays. But what they should be thinking is about how great it is that every now and then, a community comes together to help its own. How every now and then community members come together to believe in something bigger than themselves and their own individual needs.

People in Maine purchased over gifts for 1,300 needy kids this year. That’s incredible. Yeah, you  might think it’s to be expected for people to give at Christmas, but in Hancock County, giving and caring is a year-round tradition.

Remember this fall when people scrounged $5 or $10 out of their wallets, slapped the bills down on a counter at Home Depot and purchased a gift card for a family they barely knew. Others donated a week’s worth of vacation time, hauling lumber, putting up drywall, passing out cookies.

That’s what happened in Milbridge when people all came together to help out the Ray-Smith family for Extreme Home Make-Over. The TV show relies on volunteer help and businesses like Broughman Builders to change families’ lives for the better.

It’s great what Hancock and Washington County people did for the Ray-Smith family. It’s better than great, really, but the truth is people are doing good for each other all the time. It doesn’t take a camera crew to get people out and helping each other.

Drive behind Malen Hsu on Bridge Hill in Ellsworth any morning and you’ll see her waving on one of the trillion Ford Explorers or Subarus waiting to merge. Why does she do that? Because she believes in kindness.

Go to Hannafords and see how many people will help a vertically-challenged person like myself reach the box of organic juice shelf way up in the top shelf of the freezer. Why do they do that? Because they believe in helping out?

Or just think about how many moms and dads offer to drive other people’s kids home from basketball games, karate matches, activity nights at the middle schools, hip-hop dance classes. Why do they do that? Because that’s what you do. It’s just what you do.

There aren’t any camera crews.

Nobody’s shouting “MOVE THAT BUS!”

But it’s happening. People are helping people here every single day. It’s not every now and then. It’s always and it’s good.

That’s what the holiday season is about, really, isn’t it? It’s about being heroes for Hanukah, Santas at Christmas. It’s about seeing the joy on someone’s face when you give a little something of yourself. And I have to believe. I really have to believe that this is something that happens here all year.