THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, December 24, 1995 TAG: 9512220195
SECTION: VIRGINIA BEACH BEACON PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Kevin Armstrong
LENGTH: Medium: 72 lines
I wonder how long it's been since you experienced the magic of Christmas Eve.
Things have a way of happening on this special night that don't carry the same meaning any other day of the year.
My childhood is filled with Christmas Eve memories that have outlived the gifts I received. Thankfully, though, I've added to my collection as a husband and father.
One such occasion now hangs on my tree.
It is a red and blue soldier only 3 inches tall. The ceramic figure holds a candy cane, and his hat is trimmed in gold. The year ``1989'' is painted near the top.
The bottom, however, bears witness to what happened that Christmas Eve night.
As I recall, it was the last white Christmas to blanket the Beach. Snow covered the lawn, and the roads were iced over.
We had a tradition of trudging next door each Dec. 24 for the Bartee family Christmas. Robert and Terri opened their home to us because we have no relatives within hundreds of miles. They, on the other hand, have plenty.
It was a typical gathering that likely will be repeated in hundreds of homes tonight all over town. Food, laughter and catching up were all part of the routine. And before it was through, Santa would show up at the door.
We had, of course, set aside a gift for each of the kids, who thought it was the jolly ol' man's present they received. St. Nick, we all knew, was simply Robert's friend in a red suit. It was the greatest of tricks to get them to bed.
This night would be different, though, as I would soon learn.
We safely returned to our home next door, but it wasn't long before I returned outside.
Alone in the yard, I couldn't believe what I'd found.
There in front of the house was a broken down Toyota in the middle of the street. A different Santa emerged from the car seeking help. I stood there amazed that he'd be in such need, let alone that he'd come looking for me.
``I'm late for a party,'' said the white-bearded fellow. ``Can you give me a jump? I think my battery's dead.''
``I'm not sure if I have cables,'' I replied, ``but I'll do what I can.''
I rushed into the house and found my wife at the door.
``It's Santa,'' I exclaimed. ``He's broken down!''
I asked about cables and she started to smile. Then she reached under the tree and pulled out a present.
``I guess you'd better open this now,'' she said.
I ripped off the paper and there lay a pair of new jumper cables.
``What?'' I asked. ``How did you know?''
Shaking my head in disbelief, I tromped back outside wondering more importantly how ``he'' would know to stop here.
``You must have known,'' I told Santa as I handed him the cables. ``I just pulled these from under the tree.''
He laughed and then he hooked up our cars. We juiced up the engines until both motors roared.
``Thanks,'' he said while breaking the connection.
He handed me the cables and I said, ``You're welcome.''
As I turned to walk in, he hailed me once more.
``Here, I'd like you to have this,'' he said.
He unraveled his fist and turned over an ornament.
Before I placed it on the tree later that night, I inscribed on it the words ``DAD HELPED SANTA.''
Half a dozen years later, that tiny treasure adorns a tree once more.
It's a reminder of the magic that may yet visit again tonight. by CNB