The Practical Spirituality of Santa By Richard Hughson

I've been portraying Santa for over twenty years. I don't know if my beard turned naturally white because I was meant to play Santa or, if because of playing Santa, my beard decided to join in the fun. Either way here I am, and delightfully so.

I was too busy during the Christmas season to even think of writing down all that happened. Now however, in January, I find myself reflecting on why an old man, perhaps old enough to begin having medical difficulties, would sit in a noisy mall for hours on end, in a hot red suit, and let every kid who comes along cough, gag, and choke right in front of him.

First, many people who've had a Near Death Experience (NDE), and which included a life review, report back that it's the little things, things you typically don't even remember doing, that can make the biggest difference in someone's life. And it's the accumulation of all those little things, over the course of your time on Earth, which adds up to a huge difference in the spiritual progress of humanity.

With that in mind here are a few instances of 'little things' which I was involved in while performing the lowly job of being a mall Santa.

Two years ago a family of three came in looking a bit despondent. The 'child' was a young adult at the time. They stood next to me, telling me they had exhausted all other avenues, and decided to try asking Santa because, “Why not?” The only thing they wanted in the whole world was a kidney.

I don't mind telling you that it was pretty intense. I often surprise myself with how quickly I can reply to almost any request. But not this time. I had no words. I stood up and we all joined hands. After standing there for a while with our heads bowed I finally said, “I'll see what I can do.” Then added, “I'll put my elves on it.” It was the best I could come up with. 

The same three people came back this year, all smiles. “We got a kidney!” They told me.

It feels like the edge of arrogance to say, “I am humbled.” Who am I to know what true humbleness is? Perhaps a saint would have the perspective to be able to discern true humility from simple gap mouthed awe. I'm just a guy in a Santa suit. But, I was humbled. Hugs and smiles were shared, and a deep appreciation came to me. These people thought enough to come back and tell a mall Santa that they'd gotten their wish.

As I finished writing that last sentence my cat, a renowned hunter and fighter who has scant time for silliness, jumped up on my lap for a long session of petting. It was good.

Quite often I'll get up out of my seat to stop someone passing by in the aisleway. I can't really say what gets my attention every time but older people and wheelchairs are easy marks. 

An older woman pushing a very elderly woman passed by one day. I walked out to chat with them. The woman in the wheelchair bragged she was in her 90s. “That's a good start,” I said, “but you've got a way to go to beat 1,745 years.” 

Being a good sport she shook a finger at me, “I'm much older than you.”

I shook my finger right back at her, “I remember you when you were only this high.” Holding my hand around waist height. “You were quite the little dickens, weren't you?”

She laughed, “Well, yes I was, but don't tell my daughter,” motioning to the woman behind the chair. 

“No, no, this'll be our little secret.” Then to the daughter, “She was never bad enough to get a piece of coal, but I wondered a few times.” They both laughed and went on their way. 

The following year the daughter came in alone. I had kids all around me. She talked to one of the helpers, “I don't know who it was but a Santa from here came out to talk to my mother and I last year. I just wanted to say thank you. That was my mother's last Christmas.

There are always teenagers in the mall. Little kids and shy people get treated gently. On the other hand groups of chatty, talkative teenagers, who are far too mature and sophisticated for Santa, get the big booming voice, “What are you doing walking by with a cell phone in your hand? Get over here for a selfie!” They come running, all excited like the little kids they really are. I love doing that.

Groups of developmentally challenged adults come in quite often. They're a big, loving, pain in the butt. They have no idea how big they are. They're just kids in large bodies. I slide over and pat the chair seat next to me, “Come on, have a seat right here.” They back up and jam themselves in. So far no one has actually knocked me out of the chair. Once settled they tell me their deepest desires. It might be a starry eyed dream of a favorite toy or place to go visit. Oftentimes though, it's a quiet wish to be with family. 

One young fellow had very limited physical movement. They wheeled his chair in, next to me, and we made eye contact. In that brief moment I saw intelligence, and desperation. There was a lot of commotion trying to get the other clients arranged for a group picture. That allowed me time to just 'be with' the young fellow. He slowly edged his hand over to touch mine on the armrest of his wheelchair, grasping my hand, one finger then the next. I held his hand as things got arranged and the picture was taken. 

I don't recall all I said to him. I felt a connection of some kind so I kept calling him my buddy. As the aide began moving people along I fussed around to spend more time with him. The aide began moving his wheel chair and he tightened his little grip. It really was time to let go but neither he nor I wanted to. By way of reassuring him I finally said, “It's ok. We're buddies now. I'll see you again.” At that he was willing to release. I look forward to seeing him again some day.

I do my best to help them all feel loved in the moment. But my greatest appreciation is for the aides who care for them day by day. They're my heroes.

Remember the 'little things' I mentioned in the beginning of this? 

A family came in; Mom, Dad, three little ones, and a fourteen year old without a hair on her head, not even eyebrows. She was obviously dealing with some sort of cancer treatments and wasn't having a good day in any way. She stayed way back by the camera table, arms crossed, looking as glum and miserable as any fourteen year old could. 

I chatted with the little ones, all excited, as Mom and Dad stood by smiling. A brief respite from hauling kids through the mall traffic? The little ones told me everything they were looking forward to, hoping for, and dreaming of. They began to walk away when I stopped them with, “Hey, hey, hold on a minute. Don't you want to know if you're on the Good List?” That caught their attention and caused some confused looks. 

“Line up in front of me so I can see you all.” The fourteen year old watched. “There are three tests you have to pass to be sure you're on the Good List. Are you ready?” They all nodded, knowing nothing of what was to come. “The first test is easy. It's just a high five.” Tap, tap, tap, they all passed, of course. “The second test is also easy. It's just a bump of the knuckles.” Again, they all passed. They've got this in the bag, right? “The third one is the tough one. You have to pass this one in order to be sure you're on the Good List. It's knuckles again, but the knuckles have to squeak.”

Their faces dropped at this challenge as the oldest one twisted his fingers around trying to figure out how knuckles could possibly squeak. I gave them a break, “Mom, remember how scared you were when you had to do this with me at their age?”

Now you would think that a woman who is raising four kids, one of whom is undergoing cancer treatments, would be able to handle anything – and you'd be right. I held my fist out and she gamely, knowing nothing of what was to happen, gave it a bump. 

Squeak! The sound came right from the knuckles themselves – because I have a palm squeaker hidden inside my glove.

This broke the spell of worry and they all jumped at the chance to get a squeak for themselves. The fourteen year old cracked a half smile. “Come on, Dad. Show them how you do it.” He casually reached out and gave me a fist bump. 

Nothing, not a sound.

They exploded in laughter, including the fourteen year old. I blamed the Dad. “Come on, Dad. Do it right this time.” He does. Squeak! “He's always been a teaser.” I explained.

As they walked away the fourteen year old was looking up smiling, laughing, and chatting with her father, just like the kid she really was. 

That's why I sit around in a hot red suit.

I feel quite blessed to have the opportunity to touch thousands of lives every Santa season. 

It's a good thing.

About Richard Hughson: Richard Hughson, a machinist by trade, came to understand the many STEs he had experienced since childhood through his friendship with Tom Sawyer. Tom's unique NDE brought him both spiritual responsibilities and the ability to fulfill them. The two remained close friends, traveling the world and goofing around together until Tom’s natural passing in 2007.
 

Their adventures included healing the Dalai Lama and a healing by Mother Meera. All have relevance and deep implications for personal growth and the future of humanity. Richard shares the joy of his spiritual growth as a healer through storytelling, hospital clowning, and even as Santa. He leads workshops on Healing with Humor and lectures on Tom Sawyer at spiritual conferences and IANDS chapters across the country. He has authored the Heart-Session Meditations blog for 16 years at https://heart-session.blogspot.com/.