Are you finding it hard to get into the Christmas spirit this year? Worried about spending time in busy shopping centers? Mourning the loss of joyful concerts at schools and churches? It sure doesn’t feel like a typical holiday season to me, which if why I’ve been thinking about a December from years ago, when I learned to believe in the magic of Christmas no matter what else is going on in the world.

It was a cold winter evening in 1988 and our family had just moved to Oswego. After living out of state for a number of years, we decided to move back home and be closer to family. I left behind a teaching job and was, as yet, unable to find work here, while my wife, Mary, had secured a job as a nurse. We were renting a tiny, 2nd floor apartment that she and I nicknamed “the hellhole,” because it was so small that whenever our two kids, Carly, age four and a half, and Nick, two and a half, cried, talked loudly or played with their toys, sounds echoed through the apartment like a train speeding through a tunnel. Stress was high—very high.

On this night Mary and I decided to venture out into the cold to watch the annual tree lighting ceremony in downtown Oswego. The promise of Santa Claus appearing at the nearby Armory seemed like the perfect bit of joy to offer to Carly, who was just getting the hang of this believing in Santa thing. Nick was too young to understand, but he imitated everything Carly did and big red things caught his eye. Hopeful, we headed out into the night.

The tree lighting was nice, the carols sung by the high school chorus were beautiful and the hot cocoa served by a local service club soothed our chilly attitudes. With thoughts of our echoing apartment fading, we headed over to the Armory to wait for the advertised arrival of Santa and for some one-on-one time with good old St. Nick.

When we got there, Santa hadn’t arrived and we were shocked at the long line of parents holding the anxious hands of five-year-olds or carrying younger ones like squirming packages of excitement. We had no choice but to get in line and play the waiting game. We sure could have used those carolers here and maybe another cup of cocoa, to bide the time.

Our patience was running thin as minutes added up to a half hour and still no Santa. His cutely-dressed elves had no explanation for Santa’s no show. Carly just couldn’t understand and to make this night stink even worse, Nick had deposited something in his Christmas diaper. People around us were starting to stare.

Having waited as long as we could, we decided to go back to the apartment. Carly burst into tears, unable to understand why there was no Santa, and Mary and I were sure we were the worst parents ever: denying our child any chance of believing in Santa’s goodness. Nick, the imitator, decided to join the chorus of his sister’s song of woe.

We started walking to our car, promising Carly a Christmas movie when we got home to at least show her Santa on TV. We thought about hanging a few more decorations, putting on some Christmas music…anything that would stop the crying, anything that would keep their sobs from ricocheting off the walls of that cold apartment. Then we saw him.

Heading straight for us, ringing a bell, that red suit filled out just right, and walking at a quick pace—in a hurry, I was sure, to make it to the Armory. We knew we had to walk right past him and we were a little bit embarrassed by our two crying children, not to mention the stench of Nick’s diaper. And we didn’t want to delay Santa’s arrival for the children any longer. We proceeded to keep our heads down, trying to divert Carly’s attention from the approaching merry sight. But how can you miss Santa when he’s big as life?

“What’s wrong, little girl?” Santa inquired.

Carly turned her face from my tear-stained coat, widened her ready-to-believe eyes and hushed her sobbing. “She was waiting for you, Santa, at the Armory, but it was time to go home,” Mary said.

“I think she was afraid you weren’t real,” I added.

“Oh,” Santa exclaimed, “No, no, my dear. I am real. You mustn’t ever stop believing that. Santa just got a little hung up back at the Toy Shop.” As he held out his arms to offer her a hug, he said, “Now, tell me your name.” And right there, in the middle of windy downtown Oswego, as dozens of other kids waited for their moment to believe, for Carly Santa became real.

That moment made our family’s Christmas special, and continued into the rest of that season and on into the new year. I was sure this moment with Santa had been unique, but it turns out that was far from the truth. I learned that this Santa was really a man named Bob McManus, a lifelong Oswegonian who’d been portraying our red-suited friend for 43 years. A few years later I also learned that the evening we crossed paths was Bob’s last Christmas as our favorite Santa. The following December, just days before he was to appear again at Oswego’s holiday tree lighting, McManus died suddenly. Upon his passing, many suggested there will never be a Santa as real as Bob McManus.

Which makes my memory of our meeting him even more important. Santa Bob knew just what to say to a child who wanted to believe in Christmas. But the thing he may not have known is that two parents also needed to believe. His time with us on that cold night lasted about three minutes; not a lot of time, you might say. But for a young family in transition, and for all the seasons since then, Santa Bob McManus has made my Christmas bright.