The Old Black Santa

[Code_Name_D]

___________________ The Old Black Santa ____________________

An old man I am. Withered and gray is my hair as my sun has begun to set. But I am full of joy and wonder from all things in my life that have occurred, the holidays too, from Halloween, to the Thanks Giving day Bird.

But by far, my happiest memories, come from the day before Christmas, or more precise, Christmas Eve.

When I was young, only eight I think. There was this old black man, who'd I'd never seen without a smile, or wink. And he would tell a tale as tall as the oak. One I remember well, was his story of the Black Santa Claus, that marched throw the inner city, singing grandly the song of Noel.

It was not a red suit he ware, but one of white. His boots were worn, and tired, but would seem to dance with delight. His face was as weathered as a tree, yet so funny and bright, smiling with glee. And his eye's, the old man told me, Oh those happy eyes that trickled under the street lights as stars.

He bore not toys in his sac, but food, and warm clothes, all he could pack. To every bridge and underpass, he would visit, one by one. He would feed and shelter all he met who was poor and down. From every kid, to every bum. Not a sole was cold, or a sole hungry, when he was done.

And then, the old man said, the most wondrous thing of all would happen. This Santa would take all the children, hand in hand, and they would dance in the snow about a fire can. To the kids, he did not give toys, nor dolls or teddy bears, no planes or trains. His gift to them, was the greatest gift of all, the gift of laughter. Laughter so hard, that they would role in the snow. The parents and others would then join the circle of cheer. They would soon join the young, laughing in there own way, with a steady stream of joyous tires.

And then, without a word. The black Santa Clause would leave them alone. With a smile, bright on his face, he would move on, leaving only joy and laughter in his wake. His pack would be as empty the night sky, but with a joys that would outnumber the stars.

I met him once, the old man said, Tis' true, I did. Way back I think, to 1932. I remember laughing in the snow. And I stopped long enough, just long enough mind you, to see him go. But before my tires of joy I could pull from my eye, he was gone, his trail marching off into a field of virgin snow.

Now I know what you must think. How could this old man possibly know old Saint Nick? A man dressed in white, with mud instead of soot, no slay of toys, and no elves by his side. This man spun a yarn for little kids, no truer than Easter bunny you might say. I know, because when I became older, I said it too. And to my kids, I told the old tale, of jolly Saint Nick, so quick and so marry, who shook like a bowl full of jelly, and his nose like a cherry.

But I saw him one day, on Christmas Eve I do think. I was out in the weather, for some forlorn reason. I heard laughter in the night, almost an echo, it was so faint. Could it be the Black Saint Nick? At that point, I just didn't know, but my curiosity continued to grow.

I abandoned my car with haste, and trudged into the city street, at a solid pace. It was cold that night, I do remember. After all, it was late December. The laughter was gone and all was silent. But I did not waver from my course.

Then around a building I turned, and how I found the man, I may never learn. It was the old man of my youth, even older now. He was week, and broken, from a burden that he had pulled behind him throw the snow, like an old rusty plow.

He was not dressed in red, nor even in white. Not but a thin sweeter, did he have against biter cold of the night.

I rushed to his side, and held up his shivering from. I abandon my coat, mitts and hats, in an effort to keep him warm. But I was too late, this I could see in his eye's. He had seen his last sun set, and his final breath, was quickly drawing nigh.

"What are you doing out in the cold," I ask of him. "Why are you outside, instead of in?" The old man gave me a smile, and pointed at his pack that lay next to him.

"Of all the Christmas cheer I have gotten throw my life, it is time I give some back. There are people out there, who are hungry and sick. I can not leave them to bum on this night. I have little to share, and even less to give."

With a sad smile, I shook my head. "You have given your life," I said, "no grater gift there is."

His final words then said, and his last breath took. The old man died in my arms. All I could do for him was to mourn his passing. As his body lay in the snow. And the night was silent again.







Empty.







Alone.







Cold.







My gaze then did fixed upon his pack. And from that moment on, I knew that for me, there was no turning back. From the old man, I took my coat, mitts, and hat, and stuffed them all into his sack. I slung it over my shoulder, with a slump. Shivered bitterly against the cold, and I staggered forward. Onward from where I heard the laughter from before.

I followed the sounds, into an old abandon shack. The walls were drafty, no glass in the windows, not even a floor mat. There was the stench of garbage, even in the frigid cold. There were other horrors in there, best left untold.

But in a corner, huddled for warmth, was a homeless family, a father, a mother, and two small boys. In all four pares of eyes, was not a single twinkle of joy. In fact I could see fear in their faces, since they did not know who I was.

I knelt to one knee, and let down my pack. "You need not fear me," I said, "for I have come to give back. You see, all that I have, I got from the lord. My car, my job, my room and board. I need to return a little, and I think god would want you to have them, rather than he."

Not waiting for a reply, I then took my bag, and up ended it all, onto a dry rag. And out spilled a miracle, grater than them all. There was food, coats, and toys for them all. To be sure, it was not much at all. But giant sized miracles always come from deeds as small. But it was not enough. I opened my wallet, and to the father I gave all I could spare. No, that's not true, I gave them all that was there.

I then sat down, on an old trash can lid. And I told the two boys, about the Black Santa, I did. I told them how he came to all in need. How he spread joy with a mire humble deed. I said that Santa need not have a dear, nor elves, or a slay. Why, even baby Jesus was born in a manger on this very day.

And that's my story, and I say it's all true. But before I go, there's something else I must say too. You see some say Santa dues not really exist. But I say he dues, and I know where he lives. You might even see him in the mirror some day, if you look deep enough, you will see. Look deep inside your love and compassion, and trust me, there he will be.

The Old Black Santa
By Douglas E. Kulp

[Code_Name_D]

1. kick

:kick:

[Blue_Tires]

3. ttt

ttt

[Kamika]

2. I found him !