I know that Obama hasn’t done a whole lot to create jobs, and at this time of year I get really jealous when I think about the folks who know they’re gonna have a job at Christmas almost without fail.

The Little People.

Think about it.

Who else is gonna fit into those wee small clothes and still look like an adult? Who else is gonna do all the Christmas commercials for Santa’s workshop? I mean, these folks seem pretty well able to go stand in a line somewhere and along comes a job.

“Hey you, hey Mac — got a job for ya. How tall are ya?”

“Three feet nine.”

“Great. Got any little friends?”

“Yeah. All my friends are little.”

“Excellent. Here’s my card. Show up at this address tomorrow and be prepared to work for the next couple of weeks.”

Christmas commercials.

Holiday movies.

I told ol’ beanboy he ought to try out for a commercial.

“I’ll just get you a helium balloon so you’ll sound like the Mayor of Munchkinland — you’ll be a shoo-in!”

Possibly, but he’s grown about four inches this year so that puts him over the line at the kiddie rides.

I gotta say “God Bless the Little People,” cause without them, the child wouldn’t believe in Santa.

“Ma, what are they doing on an Alltel commercial? Shouldn’t they be up at the North Pole, banging my toys together?”

“They are. It’s just that these commercials are made during the summertime when they’re on their vacation break. They have to make the commercials during the summertime so they can show them during the holidays.”

“Ooohhh...”

I am gonna be in so much trouble when he finds out the real deal.

And Santa Claus?

Oh Lord.

I’ll be up to my neck in it.

He’s already got kids taunting him at school because he still believes.

I know he’s 10 and in the fifth grade, but you know, there has to be some magic and mystery to it. Otherwise, it would just be too boring.

I have to tell him the same story about this time every year when the subject of Christmas comes up at school and the kids give him guff about Santa Claus:

I was 3 years old and we were living in a little apartment in the projects in Boston. Pop was overseas in Okinawa doing his duty for the Army and Mom was tending the six of us. I was next to the youngest in line.

Christmas was close at hand and I was breathless with anticipation.

I had so much nervous energy thinking about what Santa was gonna bring. But how was he gonna get it to us? We didn’t have a chimney!
Problem solved.

One of the relatives brought a cardboard fireplace with the fire scene painted on it. A very popular item down at the hardware store for the scores of folks in apartment living.

Mom explained that when Santa and the reindeer landed on the roof of our building, he would find a place to scoot down and the fireplace would become real long enough for him to get there.

Awesome.

It started snowing that Christmas Eve and I watched the snow pile higher and higher, thinking what a great soft pillow it would make for Santa and the reindeer.

Somehow Mom managed to get us all to bed at a reasonable hour after we had been standing around the Christmas tree repeating our wishes out loud in hopes that Santa would hear us.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I recall getting out of the bed I shared with my sister and padding down the hall in my Dr. Denton’s.

Normally I was terrified of the dark, but the lights from the Christmas tree at the end of the hall beckoned me.

I could hear Mom sawing logs on the sofa, so I scuffed my way toward the sound.

On entering the living room, in the semi-darkness, I saw a huge tall figure just heading out the door.

It was Santa Claus.

He turned to me, put a finger up to his lips and went, “Shhhh...”

The bobby pins that were holding in my pin curls must have popped right off my shocked little head and I bee lined it back to bed.

I don’t know how I managed to get back to sleep, but I did.

When I woke up in the morning, I excitedly told everyone my story.

No one paid attention because they were all swooning over the buckets of presents under the tree.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the little tricycle that had been left for me.

“How did Santa get that down the chimney?” asked a brother.

“He didn’t,” I piped up, “he came fwoo da fwont doe-ah!”

Santa lived, and he had come through our front door.

Mom reckoned the cardboard fireplace was simply too small.

And how did I know Santa wasn’t one of the “Little People?”

Well, he wouldn’t have been able to see over the reindeer, silly.