CHAPTER 1
It was a clear, moonlit night when Chris — or, Santa, as he was now known to little children everywhere — and his son Daniel, whom he had stopped to pick up along the way, drove off in the sleigh. It didn't seem that long ago when he himself first packed up and left the North Pole for college, and then started to work at the head office of one of the largest toy consortiums in the world. This had been a natural fit, seeing that he was the son of one of the, if not the most, beloved figures on the planet. It was the reason he had left the North Pole in the first place; for how was one to compete with the jolly old elf? He needed to see if he could make his own way in the world before he legitimately felt worthy to perhaps one day fill his father's shoes.
He had risen quickly through the ranks of the toy company to an executive position — not only because of his superior knowledge of toys and elven efficiency, but also because of an innate ability to inspire creativity in others — when Herschel, the assistant head-elf, and Santa's right-hand man (which was not as easy as it might sound, being an elf and all), his 'Number One', as it were, found him and let him know that his father was retiring after an unexpected accident, and that it was time for him to take over the position as head-elf, and fulfill the life he was born to live.
The full moon shined above which highlighted the glistening crest of new-fallen snow on the ground beneath; this made it seem nearly bright as day. An almost infinite array of sparkling ice crystals caused the ground to appear like it was covered in glitter. This diffuse reflecting phenomenon, where light from the sun was redirected by the moon, and then passed through and bounced off of the individual snowflakes, always made for romantic, moonlit walks through parks and pathways. The air, particularly brisk, brought couples even closer together during their leisurely strolls.
Chris had fallen for the daughter of one of his supervisors during one of these late night winter promenades. They had first met at the University of Illinois at Chicago. His major was in business, hers in fine arts. It was actually her influence with her father that brought Chris to work at that toy factory in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. After an elaborate ceremony — his side came to the wedding incognito — and a few years together, the union produced one child, a boy they named Daniel. A family had been a dream come true for Chris, until all of the late nights at the factory, going through business reports, projections, and proposals, took their toll.
That, coupled with the fact that he had never really told her the truth about his extended family; had never fully revealed himself to her. She always felt like he was holding something back. It was not like he didn't want to tell her about his parents, it was that the timing never seemed quite right. It was just easier not to have to explain or prove the seemingly unexplainable; and as yet, until he became Santa himself, unprovable.
The sleigh, or their mode of transportation for the evening, was like a picturesque-postcard with all of its intricate, old-world craftsmanship, combined with contemporary innovations. The whip Santa had on board was there mainly just for show. It was rarely, if ever used. When it was utilized it never actually touched the reindeer. Although Santa operated the reins, he allowed Comet, the lead reindeer, to do what he had always done, what he had done for over a thousand years, to take the lead in guiding the team. He had a no-nonsense approach when it came to his job. This confirmed the respect of both Santa and the other tiny reindeer — who only seemed tiny as you saw them from a distance; up close they were just as large as other caribou, or the genus Rangifer Tarandus — which drew the sleigh behind him. The team, therefore, never really needed the crack of a whip. Their galloping synchrony made the pulling of the sleigh appear effortless.
Though they had been doing this from the beginning, all of the rooftop stops and starts were nonetheless difficult to negotiate; and over the years of modernization had become even more so. Just one miscalculation on their line of approach through an overhead cable or an electrical wire, one misplaced hoof or rudder against a bathroom vent or attic fan, and Santa, the sleigh, the bundle of toys, and the reindeer — the whole kit and caboodle, as it were — would all come crashing down. They would then land, somewhere in a yard, bush, or worse yet, atop a front porch, in a heap.
The subsequent racket and clatter involved would stir homeowners and neighborhood watch groups in the immediate area. Parents in kerchiefs and caps, those who had settled in for their long winter's nap, and were then dreaming of a white Christmas, hoping for a silent night — which, with excited children stirring, was well-nigh impossible — would then be alerted to see exactly what was the matter. Children would also be awakened; those who were subconsciously listening for sleigh bells in the snow. 9-1-1 in all likelihood would be notified, as well as E.A.R.S.S., or, the Emergency Aerial Reindeer Sleigh Service, in a strained, if not accurate, elven acronym. If such a situation ever occurred, the sleigh would automatically send out a discreet sub-atmospheric distress signal, and they would then be immediately dispatched.
Consequently, the North Pole Association, an elfish advocacy group, were huge proponents of underground wiring. Which group discreetly petitioned the government agencies responsible; or, those who were over these matters. There would then be a few less obstacles into which they could fly.
Fortunately, Herschel, in a remarkable display of insight and intuition, had asked Gustav, head of research and development at the North Pole, to build an obstruction warning device into the sleigh. An instrument of highly technical innovation, it could sense an obstacle, loose shingle, or tile, from hundreds of yards away; long before they made rooftop. They could then approximate the gable from a different line of attack, or hover just above if there were too many landing difficulties associated therewith.
In this way they had every angle covered. Safety was paramount; it was absolutely their primary concern. However, most importantly, no accidents ultimately meant that every household would eventually be visited, and that no believing child would be left without.
Herschel also had Gustav install a one-of-a-kind radar navigational jamming system to help prevent the miniature sleigh — which, like the reindeer, only seemed small when seen from a distance — from being tracked; but even that had its limitations. The military, specifically Admiral Bernie from Naval Intelligence, as well as officials at Homeland Security, had been trying for years to follow the sleigh's route to and from the North Pole. This was where the tracings were believed to have originated; although, up to this point, their efforts had only met with marginal success. They had sporadically seen blips connected with their radar, but were unsure what they actually meant. Each blip appeared far apart on the screen, signaling an extremely high rate of speed. They had never seen anything so rapid before; it was unlike any known aircraft.
Since they had nothing comparable with which to physically follow this unexplained aerial event, or U.A.E. as it was known in military circles, it was their plan to monitor it by radar to the best of their ability as it flew around the world. This, in a furtive attempt, to ensure that it was not a sinister plot to infiltrate the United States, or to nefariously penetrate the airspace of any of its allies. Although they seemed to be physically outmatched, F-15 Eagle fighter jets were still scrambled whenever the blips occurred. They would at least try to catch, outmaneuver, or cutoff the intruder, and would even resort to firing upon it with an on-board rocket launcher if the need or threat presented. Nothing was off the table in their quest for national security.
It was obvious that these officials no longer believed in, or could possibly conceive of the notion, of a Santa Claus. The blips originated in the Arctic region (which word comes from the Greek, Arktikos, and means "near the bear", or "northern", Polcirkeln was how it was known in Sweden), and it should have been easy to put two and two together. But, according to their intelligence liaisons, there just had to be another explanation. This was one of the reasons that Gustav and his staff of necessity altered the path and trajectory pattern of Santa's rounds around the world from one year to the next.
From Chris and Daniel's vantage point, high up in the sleigh, the stars that appeared to peek out of the shaded, blackened sky seemed close enough to touch. The trees below, draped in their seasonal frozen white covering, stood stately and motionless beneath these twinkling lights. There was not even the hint of a breeze. In the crisp stillness, Daniel's mother could yet be heard echoing off in the quiet distance. Chris had not given his ex a definitive answer concerning a transcontinental flight, especially after she had expressed her trepidations concerning the matter; but from a Santa standpoint, he knew it would be best not to go against her wishes.
To stave off the tracking devices of the military, they flew about the country in a circuitous, roundabout route through De Moines, Davenport, Duluth, and Detroit. Continuing with their deliveries, they then stopped off in the city of Chicago, the "Windy City", or "Second City", as it was commonly known to New Yorkers. This was not only because of its size and Midwestern prominence, but a snobbish reaction to New York City's own, self-perceived "first city" standing and preeminence.
Chris, looking over the lights in their approach, turned to his son, and said, "Hey look, Daniel! There's Chicago! Home of the Cubs and 'da Bears!'" At this point, he smiled to himself, and began to sing, "'It's my kind of town, Chicago is! My kind of town, Chicago is!' Boy, do I remember Chicago, Daniel! It's where I first laid eyes on your mother." He closed his eyes, and began to reminisce. "Dancing late at the Rialto; romantic moon-lit walks out by the lake. They had this rib-joint we would frequent. Oh, the barbecued baby-backs would just melt in your mouth. I wish they were open late on Christmas Eve, I'd swoop by."
"I don't think their drive-through could accommodate the reindeer, Dad!"
"Accommodate?" Chris answered, in a somewhat surprising tone. "That's a mighty big word, Son."
"Well, Mark is good for something!" The reindeer and Santa were both amused by Daniel's comment, each remembering that it was only one of his idiosyncrasies. Mark was Daniel's stepdad, his mother having remarried not long after she asked Chris to leave the house; the ink had barely even dried on their divorce certificate. A pretentious sort, he was almost always caught up in his own importance. Laughter could be heard as they rode through the darkened sky, and then faded into the moonlight.
After Chicago's deliveries, they again streaked across the horizon, and made their way visiting homes in small towns, suburbs, and farms, in a meandering course to New York City. As they flew over Pittsburgh, Chris said, "You know, Daniel, I can always find my way when I come to Three Rivers Stadium; what the Steelers call, "their house." However, as you know, I was forever a Vikings fan. I cheered as a child when I heard that they had reached the Superbowl against Kansas City; when they lost that game, I hated the Chiefs. Then they lost again in the Superbowl against Miami, and I hated the Dolphins. They then later lost Superbowls to the Steelers, and to the Raiders, and I figured, 'Gee, I can't hate the whole league.'"
"That's a very practical attitude, Dad," he said, rolling his eyes, not really impressed with Chris' small talk.
Finishing up in Pennsylvania, they flew north. Upon viewing New York City, Chris suddenly stood up in the sleigh, and began to dance standing in place as if he were wearing a top hat, holding the reins as a cane. Pushing the back of his cap forward, he started to sing the prelude to the familiar song, New York, New York, by the late, great, Marvin Hamlisch. "'Dat, dat, da-da-da-da, dat, dat, da-da-da-da, dat, dat, da-da-da-da! Start spreading the News ...' Thank-you, thank-you very much," he said in his best Elvis impersonation.
"Dad! Sit down, please!" said Daniel, holding his stomach. "You're rocking the sleigh! I think I'm getting air-sick."
"Sorry, Daniel!" said Chris, as he sat down. "But it's New York City! The Big Apple, Son! I was so dismayed with everything about this Santa Claus gig when I first started, that I couldn't enjoy all of the sights!" This was the beginning of Chris' second year as the 'Big Guy'. "Nor did I have someone to share them with," he thought, wistfully, almost as an aside.
"Why do they call it, The Big Apple, Dad?"
"I don't know, I guess it's because of all of the fruitcakes, or nuts, down there! Look Daniel! Ho, ho, ho! It's the Empire State Building. And over there, Madison Square Garden!"
"Why is it Madison Square Garden, when the building is round?"
"My, you ask a lot of questions. Well, you know, I never thought about that before, but you've got me there, Tiger. I don't know. And look over there, Son, the lights on Broadway, and the Statue of Liberty!"
"Wow," exclaimed Daniel. "We learned the history about 'Lady Liberty' in school before Christmas break, that it was a gift given to us from the French, and was made out of copper. After class, all the boys were teasing that she didn't have anything on underneath her robe. They started singing, 'There's a place in France where the women wear no ...'"
"Hey now," said Santa, interrupting in a somewhat corrective tone. "Let's be more respectful of this nation's history."
They afterwards continued their flight to different areas of the country, delivering the toys to every city and town, and to all of the rural areas, state after state. Chris again began to sing the theme song to each one upon their arrival. As they passed over a heavily wooded area, then headed across Winston-Salem, North Carolina, he began to sing, "'Nothing could be finer than to be in Carolina, in the morning!'" Next, he put on dark glasses, and started to sing in a rhythm and blues style as they crossed over Atlanta. "'Georgia! Georgia! I've got Georgia on my mind!' There's Atlanta, Son. You know, they burned it down once, but now, it's," as he took off his Santa hat and placed it over his heart, singing, "'the home of the Braves.' Ah, baseball, nothing beats it, eh, Daniel?" He said as he placed his hat again on his head. "Watch out!" he said, suddenly turning to Daniel and laughing with his arm extended, slicing downward, "Tomahawk chop!"
"Very funny, Dad," said Daniel, sarcastically, as he leaned out of the way. He had learned in a school social studies class that such Native American comedy would be offensive to some people, and that it was not cool to express humor in such a manner. Thus political correctness had extended down to the elementary grade level.
They flew around the eastern side of Florida, and then across the Gulf to Pensacola. He then realized what he had done. He leaned over and whispered to Daniel, "Don't tell your mother we went over water!" They continued on around the lower states, through Mobile, Jackson, Memphis, and New Orleans. When they reached San Antonio, Chris again began to sing: "'Davy, Davy, Crockett, king of the wild frontier!' Look, Daniel! There's the Alamo!"
"Huh? I thought Alamo was when you put ice-cream on something."
"No, Tiger, that's a la mode. But that does sound good, doesn't it?" said Chris, as he patted his growling stomach, realizing it had been almost an hour since he last ate. "Hmmm, I wonder if she ..." He said, as he looked into the padded, Christmas themed, munch-box. "Hah! She did!"
"Who did what, Dad?"
"Zoe packed cookies and her famous hot cocoa in a thermos. She's a good elf, always looking out for us," he said, as he passed a mug of the tasty, steaming, hot liquid and a cookie over to Daniel. The team was so good at their job of smoothly guiding the sleigh, that he didn't have to keep his hands on the reins at all times; there was, therefore, never any danger of spilling the hot beverage onto themselves — nobody but themselves to blame it ever they did. Personal responsibility was a hallmark of Claus-Thought; a think-tank made up of North Pole dignitaries, elves, Inuit elders, and Santa. This was the basic and presiding principle of the naughty and nice list.
