"Playing Santa"

One November, my mother found herself profoundly affected by an ad in The Daily News. In honor of the holiday season and the spirit of giving, the post office had saved letters that several young children had written to Santa Claus. They then sent them to a program called “Be Santa.”

This particular ad implored the reader’s help in giving poor children gifts their families could not afford. Touched, my mother answered the request and immediately received a response in the mail a week or two later. Enclosed was a thank you for her generosity and a child’s letter. She shared it with us:

“Dear Santa,

Pleaze can you bring me a T.v. for Chrismas?

I never had one before and my mom can’t aford

to buy it for me and my little sister. I am eight years old and

my name is Krystal. I love you.”

Krystal had written her address below. Upon reading the letter, my sisters and I immediately felt sorry for her. We thought it was a great idea of Mom’s to help. I was also fascinated that she and I were the same age.

Sometime in the weeks that followed, my parents purchased a small television from Radio Shack and made arrangements for my father to deliver it personally. They explained to my sisters and me that it would be a complete surprise for the girl.

We found the whole idea incredibly exciting and begged our father to take us with him. We wanted to be there when Krystal received her present. Our persuasive powers were such that he agreed without much protest.

***

“Girls, get your coats on! Daddy’s finished warming up the car.” My mother’s commanding voice invaded the living room, as it always seemed to do back then. Nevertheless, our six eyes remained glued to the television and its millionth showing of My Little Pony.

“Girls! Come on, it’s getting late.”

It was the week before Christmas, and the time had come to deliver the television.

My older sister, Natalie, grabbed the remote and pressed the power button. “Time to go,” she announced with authority.

My twin sister Katie got up to follow and instinctively grabbed her American Girl doll from the couch for the car ride. I quickly did the same. Kirsten, Katie’s “pioneer girl” doll, wore her hair in pigtails not unlike her own strawberry- blond banana curls. My doll, Samantha, had long brown hair just like mine. Mom had ordered them strategically.

Katie’s hair is very different now; those curls no longer exist. She had cut them off completely about a year later to match a friend’s short, croppy hairstyle. I remember being overcome with jealousy and even accusing Katie of trying to replace me. Anyway, her hair never grew back the same way after that. It changed, just as children inevitably do.

We barraged into the kitchen, giggling and talking over one another; we never could do anything quietly. Mom had our little brothers, Jonathan and Joey, seated in their high-chairs. I wrinkled my little nose at the disgusting spectacle of applesauce smeared all over their respective trays and faces.

Mom militarily distributed our identical pink winter coats. She would often dress us alike back then. Natalie was only a year older than Katie and I, and as a result we were often mistaken for triplets. We obediently bundled up as Daddy came back to the door.

“Everyone ready to go?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.

“Where’s the TV for Krystal?” Katie inquired as she struggled to tie her scarf.

“Already in the car,” Daddy responded. “I’ve got it in the trunk.”

Mom took over Katie’s scarf without looking at it. She worriedly narrowed her big brown eyes at my father. “Be careful, Mike,” she warned as she tied.

“Don’t worry, the precinct will tell me where to go,” he said. “Then I’ll take them to get hot chocolate.”

“Woohoo!” we all shouted. The boys giggled in their chairs and imitated us.

Mom gave Daddy a quick kiss goodbye. She grinned at us, a little tear in her eye. “I’ll see you when you get back, my little Santas.”

***

About twenty minutes later, we were leaving Staten Island and sailing over the Goethals Bridge in our tanned, beat up old station wagon. I sat up as high as I could to see the bright, inviting lights and the ocean below us. The enchanting harmonies of “We Three Kings” drifted from the radio; there was a Christmas marathon on Lite FM. We sang along softly, the lyrics very familiar as a result of singing in our church choir every Sunday. I secretly likened our mission to the Kings of Orient in my mind. I searched the sky for the star that would “guide us to the perfect light”, whatever that meant. I didn’t dare share this information aloud, for fear of Natalie’s inevitable scorn.

“See how close the airplanes are, girls?” Daddy pointed to two planes that had just taken off into the night sky. “We’re right near Newark airport. That’s where we’re going, in fact. Newark.”

“Wow,” we murmured, leaning over one another and peering excitedly from the backseat.

“Daddy, are these people poor?” Natalie asked suddenly. “Is that why we bought them a TV?” I could see her eyebrows narrowed under her little wool hat as she stared at my father expectantly for answers. Natalie tended to ask the most questions out of all of us, and always seemed to somehow know things other children didn’t.

I watched my father pause for a moment before answering, something he often did when answering Natalie’s questions.

“We’re bringing the TV because it’s the right thing to do,” he responded matter-of-factly. “We wanted to do something nice for someone, so your mother and I made the decision together to do it. We wanted to show you the importance of helping other people.”

“Is it cause we’re rich that we were able to give Krystal a TV?” Katie inquired.

Natalie snorted. “No, stupid. What are you crazy, we’re not rich. Why do you think Daddy works two jobs?”

“Don’t you call your sister stupid!” Daddy quickly admonished, turning around to face us as much as he could without losing sight of the road.

Then his expression softened. “No, Katie, we’re not rich. But we were able to help someone else, so we decided to do it. That’s what Christmas is really about.” We rode in silence for a while after that.

Minutes later, the scenery began to change drastically. The adventurous hustle and bustle of bridges and airports was no more. Instead, we turned onto a block that was rife with old dilapidated houses and buildings. There were people walking all over the street, something I found shocking for a weeknight. Everyone on our block was undoubtedly inside with their families by now.

Daddy had to slow down to accommodate them. Almost all the people were African-American, something else I was not used to seeing in our neighborhood. Many of them walked across the street like purposeless zombies, seeming completely unaware of our presence, while others actually stopped and downright glared at us through the windshield. I felt nervous, sensing that we were unwelcome and did the best I could to shrink into my coat. As we drove on, a man in a tattered military jacket with a crazed, eerie look in his eyes approached us quickly and menacingly. His lip was curled in a snarl and his fists were clenched tightly. “Daddy…” Natalie sat up apprehensively.

I peered at my father’s face, only able to observe his profile from where I was sitting. His jaw was clenched and he stared straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with our bizarre aggressor. My sisters and I gasped as the frightening man came up close enough to my father’s window to touch it. I felt Daddy press down on the accelerator, startling us, the man and most of the pedestrians. In any event, it prompted them to get out of our way and move to the side of the road. We sped off down the street, and I immediately turned around to the scene behind us. The man in the military jacket was pointing and yelling at us. I couldn’t make out what it was he was saying, but he seemed angry and full of hatred. I wondered how we had managed to make someone we didn’t even know so mad at us. My heart was beating so fast I thought it would escape from my chest.

“What did that man want?” I finally managed to ask, my mouth feeling like sandpaper.

“I don’t know,” Daddy replied. “Something was wrong with him. I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”

“Maybe he was on drugs. He sure looked like it,” Natalie said smugly.

Daddy whirled around to respond, but said nothing. Instead, he just eyed Natalie briefly and then resumed navigating the rundown Newark streets.

Eventually, we pulled into the parking lot of the police precinct. Seeing all the heroic police vehicles lined up in the lot assuaged my fears somewhat. We followed my father inside, where he told us to sit down and wait while he spoke with the officers. I looked around as we sat in our chairs against the wall. The scene was much more boring than I had expected. I had pictured all kinds of exciting things, like hostile criminals being shoved through the door in handcuffs, and intense interrogations taking place. Instead, there were just a couple of chubby cops sitting at desks filling out paperwork or talking on the telephone. Most of them were bald and looked nothing like the buff young cops I had seen in the movies. Overall, it was disappointing.

Daddy walked over to us and sat down in a neighboring empty chair. “They’ll be ready for us in a second.” I restlessly swung my booted feet that didn’t reach the floor back and forth. I stared at them, mesmerized, until I looked up and saw Natalie giving me dirty looks.

About a minute later, a middle-aged police officer with light brown wavy hair and stubbly cheeks approached us.

“Mr. Scibarra?” he greeted Daddy, in a husky voice.

“Yes.” Daddy immediately stood up.

“Officer Rhodes.” He shook Daddy’s hand heartily.

“So I understand you’re deliverin’ a TV to G ibbons Street?”

“Yes, we-“

“I hope you’ll excuse my askin’ this, sir,” the officer cut in. He talked very fast and was a little difficult to understand. “But why in the world would ya wanna do that?”

Daddy looked a bit taken aback. “Well, my wife and I participated in the “Be Santa” program. They sent us a letter that this little girl wrote to Santa-“

“Krystal!” Katie exclaimed excitedly. Officer Rhodes looked at her strangely for a moment, but then quickly turned his attention back to my father.

Daddy cleared his throat and continued. “So we got the letter and we’re bringing the TV that this little girl asked for. See, the program is for kids that-“

The officer snickered loudly. “And they make you deliver it yaself?”

I strained my neck to stare all the way up at Officer Rhodes. His manner bothered me and he made me a little nervous. He wasn’t very warm and I didn’t like how he kept interrupting.

“Well, that was part of the deal,” Daddy explained, and then paused as if he were preparing to be interrupted again. Surprisingly, Officer Rhodes remained silent.

“I guess you’re supposed to be doing the job of Santa Claus,” he continued. “I didn’t mind making the trip, I just came over here to get some guidance.”

Rhodes looked at Natalie, Katie, and me. Then he scratched his head and looked back at my father.

“Look, I just think ya should know it ain’t the greatest area over there.” His voice seemed to have softened a bit. He looked around the precinct.

“Ya know, I don’t have much goin’ on here tonight and my shift’s almost over. Why don’t ya’s take a ride with me in the squad car, and I’ll take ya over there myself?”

Natalie squealed with delight. “Oh my God, Daddy can we?! Please, please, please.”

Katie and I took our cues and starting chanting “please, please, please” along with her.

Daddy gave us a look of mock shock, as he always did when we erupted into plea. “Are you sure it’s not a problem?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Rhodes responded.

***

Five minutes later, after Officer Rhodes had received clearance from a supervisor, we were riding in the back of the squad car. It too, was not what I had expected. It was old and run-down. The radio was crackly, its sounds nearly impossible to make out. My sisters and I sat huddling for body heat in the back, as it also took a while for the heat to kick in. Daddy sat up front.

We drove slowly through the streets, our observations similar to the previous ride. Officer Rhodes honked at the people in our way. Some of them glared and grumbled at the windshield, but were much quicker to move out of the way than before. I felt safer.

I don’t think we were on the road ten minutes when we pulled up in front a red building so old and decrepit, one would at first glance think it defunct or abandoned.

“This is it,” Rhodes announced, parking the car. The only signs of life in the area were two young men in hooded sweatshirts walking by. One of them nudged the other and nodded in the direction of the squad car. They continued down the dimly lit street.

Daddy and Officer Rhodes took the television and we all approached the building together.

“Girls, watch your step,” Daddy warned. “These steps don’t look too sturdy.”

I looked down. Sure enough, one of the four or five wooden steps leading up to the door displayed a gaping hole big enough for a rabbit to fit into.

We entered a long empty hallway with a row of doors on either side, where we were greeted with the overwhelming stench of urine and must. I immediately held my breath to keep from gagging. Officer Rhodes seemed unfazed and even then I was able to tell he had seen this all before. I hung very close to Natalie as we walked up the stairs to the second floor.

When we got to Apartment 2b, Officer Rhodes banged loudly on the door with his fist. Daddy stood next to him with the television in his arms, and we huddled up behind him. When there was no answer, Rhodes knocked again. “Hello!” he boomed.

Finally, the door opened a crack. I stood on my tiptoes and peered around Daddy to see what was happening. “Yes?” said a meek voice from the other side.

“How ya doin’ mam, my name is Officer Rhodes.” He took off his hat and sort of grinned. “Would ya mind opening the door?”

The woman opened the door but an inch more, and slowly. All I could see was a dark, plump face and a pair of frightened eyes. “What goin’ on?” she asked, in a thick accent I’d realize years later was Haitian-Creole. “Is there problem?”

“No, no, no,” he shook his head. “Would ya just please open the door so I can explain what I’m here for?”

“Please! We don’t do nothin’ wrong, Offica. Ma husband at work,” said the woman, now sounding close to tears.

“Come on, now, relax,” Officer Rhodes said, holding up his hand. “I’m not here for that, I promise ya’ now.” He gestured toward us. “I’m just here because this man has a gift for you.”

The woman opened the door about halfway, revealing a colorful headpiece and a suspicious expression. She eyed my father. “I dun’t undastand.”

Rhodes continued. “These nice folks drove all the way out here from Staten Island to bring ya this TV. That’s all this is.”

As he spoke, a heavyset little girl with her hair in braids appeared in the doorway next to her mother. She looked at the officer, my father, and then her gaze fell on my sisters and me. When our eyes met, I smiled at her. She didn’t smile back and I wondered if I’d somehow done something wrong without speaking or moving. I looked down at the floor.

“See, your daughter wrote to Santa Claus askin’ for a TV for Christmas. And this family here got it and came out here to bring it to ya. Wasn’t that nice of em?”

Slowly, the woman’s expression changed, as if she had begun to make sense of what was going on. Now it was Krystal’s turn to look afraid. I watched her slip quietly back into the apartment.

“I dun’t want that,” she said, her tone changed from panicked to cold. She looked at that television as if it were a vile insect. I saw my father glance at the officer.

“Ya don’t want it?” Rhodes asked. “But they brought it here just for you and ya family. It’s a gift, won’t cost you nothin’.”

“No thank you,” she said firmly. “We dun’t need no TV.”

Rhodes shrugged his shoulders and looked at Daddy. “All right then, if you’re sure. Guess we’ll hafta get goin’ then. Night, ma’am.” The woman quickly nodded and slammed the door on us. My father stood there dumbfounded, with the television in his arms.

Officer Rhodes laughed and shook his head. “Well, so much for that,” he said. “Let’s head back.”

As we started back to the car, I grabbed Natalie’s arm. “What happened?” I whispered. She shook her head and put her finger over her mouth, then pointed to Rhodes and Daddy. I guess she figured we could get some answers from their conversation.

“Well, sorry ya came out for nothin’,” Rhodes was saying to Daddy. He lowered his voice conspiratorially and snickered. “Ya do realize that poor little girl is getting’ the crap kicked outta her right now, right? Yep. Probably with the belt and who knows what else.”

My sisters and I piled into the backseat silently. Daddy loaded up the television, and resumed his place in the passenger seat. As Officer Rhodes started the engine, he turned to my father suddenly. “Ya know, if you’s don’t want that TV, I’d be willing to take it off your hands.”

***

Daddy’s generosity apparently didn’t extend that far, so the television came home with us. It ended up in Natalie’s room and remained there until she left for college. We never spoke about where it came from.

I never saw Krystal again. That was the year I quit church choir. It was also the year I stopped believing in Santa Claus.

"Playing Santa"

Trying to keep writing