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Have you ever seen an extra-large
woman, about 6 feet and two inches tall, in a skin-tight, lime
green leotard, at least two sizes too small, jumping up and down
without her feet ever leaving the ground…in public?
Neither had Hooter until he made the
mistake of dropping by a mall in Dallas to kill time waiting for
a long-time pal and mechanical genius to manufacture a new gear
for his ancient baler.
That’s why he was staring, the
way you can’t keep yourself from doing when someone trips on
level ground or walks square into a closed door.
That’s why the zeppelin in tights
had the temerity to glare at Hooter and growl, “What are you
looking at gramps?”
“The circus, I reckon,” replied
Hooter.
“I…Ohhhh…” Just like that she had
a whistle in her mouth and was blowing it as if the walls
falling at Jericho depended on her.
Almost as quick, the security
guard showed up. “What is it this time, Hilda?” he asked in a
weary voice.
“This man is stalking me with his
eyes and verbally assaulting me,” shrieked the woman, pointing
to a flummoxed Hooter.
“Stalking? A blind man could find
you in a section of pasture on the first try.”
Ignoring Hooter, Hilda turned to the guard. “I was minding my
own business, just doing my job.”
“Like the other times,” said the guard.
“Exactly. Which is not easy to do with these geezers leering at
me.”
Hooter didn’t know whether to
laugh or get mad. “What is it you’re doing exactly?”
“As if you didn’t know,” accused
Hilda, picking up a yellow sign: ‘Sale Today!’ “I’m a holiday
elf, obviously.”
“An elf!” Hooter couldn’t help
himself, he broke in two laughing.
“See, see,” shouted Hilda at the
guard, pointing to Hooter, who was doubled over in glee.
“Well, there’s your problem right
there,” said Hooter after pulling himself together. “That sign
is way too small for your billboard, besides which, who could
see it with all that gravity going on?” He leaned over to the
guard: “That suit thingy is obviously made in America for those
seams to hold; can you imagine the PSI?”
The guard was trying to stifle a
smile, when Edith Wormlow, assistant mall manager showed up,
fake smile, stiff hair and all.
“There certainly seems to be an
exuberant exchange of ideas going on here,” said Edith brightly.
“At least it is based on the reports I’ve been receiving.
Officer Jones, is everything under control?”
Hooter noticed the guard flinch
when Edith emphasized the officer part.
“Like I’ve said before Mrs.
Wormlow, I’m not an officer, per se. I’m a security guard. And,
yes, we’re working it out.”
Edith winced. “Ms., Ms., not Mrs.
And you may be an unemployed security guard if you’re not
careful. Let’s continue this in my office, shall we?” Her smile
never left.
Hooter was ready to tell Ms.
Wormlow what she could do with her overweight stop sign and all
the rest when he saw the pleading eyes of the security guard.
“Let’s!” said Hooter with a broad
grin.
All I Want for Christmas…
Officer Jones quickly outlined the situation for Ms. Wormlow,
emphasizing the repeat nature of Hilda’s complaints since she’d
gone to work at the mall a few weeks earlier.
“It sounds to me like we have a
simple misunderstanding,” said Wormlow. “Mr. McCormick, I’m
guessing a sincere apology from you would be acceptable to our
employee.” Hilda nodded, basking in the attention.
“I’d gladly apologize if I’d done
anything that required one,” said Hooter calmly. “In this case,
you folks are the ones who need to do the apologizing.”
The smile finally left Wormlow’s
thin lips, if only for an instant. “I’m afraid I don’t
understand, Mr. McCormick.”
“Indecent exposure, for one,”
said Hooter, pointing at Hilda. “Your jolly green giant there,
down to her almost all together, ain’t exactly kiddy fare. Lord,
she could scare the giblets out of a live bird.”
“Mr. McCormick…” tried Wormlow.
“False advertising and harassment
for another two,” continued Hooter. “The harassment is obvious.
As for advertising, big Christmas signs outside the mall say,
‘Welcome to All.’ I don’t feel so welcome.”
“First of all, those aren’t
Christmas signs. In the name of sensitivity and inclusivity we
call this our holiday season, not our Christmas season.”
“Which is also false
advertising,” interjected Hooter.
“Second of all, the design of the
elf costume has been approved by our board of directors, so I
believe you’d have a hard time convincing…”
“On the right frame, I’ll bet the
costume’s fine,” said Hooter. “Ya’all keep missing the forest,
though. Mrs. Wormlow, you probably had to hire thin-skin Lizzie
here, though it made no sense for job and costume at hand,
because of discrimination laws. And, Hildy, you sought the job
for reasons known only to you. But, how dare you do everything
you can to draw attention to yourself and then complain about
it. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with folks who
are supposed to be grown-ups.”
“Mr. McCormick, you obviously
aren’t from around here, you see…”
“That’s the only intelligent
observation you’ve made,” said Hooter, rising from his chair.
“Like the song says, I ain’t from Dallas; I’m from Texas. Merry
Christmas.”
All the way to the parking lot,
Hooter wished a Merry Christmas to anyone within earshot.
Sharing the Reason
Safe back at home the next day, Hooter was thinking of his
Dallas adventure, when Bugsy’s cousin, Joey found him out at the
shop.
“I’ve got a question, Uncle
Hooter.”
“Shoot,” came the muffled reply
from beneath the baler.
“Well, I’m having a hard time
understanding this whole Jesus and Santa Clause thing.”
Hooter scooted out from under the
baler so he could look Joey in the eye. “How, so, pard?”
“Well, I know Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Baby
Jesus.”
“Yup.”
“But Santa Clause brings us
presents.”
“Yup.”
“Well, if Christmas is all about
Jesus, how come he’s not the one that brings the presents?”
Hooter took a long draw of cold coffee.
“Look at it like this. Suppose
you’d already received the biggest and best present than anyone
had ever received, and you wanted to thank the one who gave it
to you, but they weren’t there in the flesh to thank. What would
you do?”
Joey thought hard. “I suppose I’d
try to share what that person gave me with some of my friends,
thinking that might make the person happy, who gave it to me.”
“Bingo,” said Hooter. “You’re
already three laps ahead of most adults.”
“But I’d still keep trying to
find that person to thank,” said Joey.
“Bingo again. That’s why we have
Santa Clause.”
“Huh?”
“Who gives us life, Joey?”
“God, Jesus, is what I learned in
Sunday School. But I don’t know exactly what that means.”
“It means none of us would be here if it wasn’t for God. It also
means none of us would have eternal life if it wasn’t for Jesus.
So, we already know who to thank for a gift that’s too big to
really even imagine.”
“Then why do we thank Santa
Clause?”
“Because he’s sharing with us.
It’s like Santa Clause symbolizes all of this thankfulness we
have on this earth. We can’t give God anything because he
already has everything, except for our love, which is up to us
to give. And, one of the ways we show Him our love is by loving
others and being kind to them.”
Joey’s young forehead creased up.
“So, Santa Clause is just really thankful and gives all that
stuff away?”
“That’s one way of looking at
it,” said Hooter. He was concentrating as hard as Joey was. “Do
you give you mama and daddy a Christmas present?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I love them.”
“But they already know that.”
“Yeah, but I want to show them.”
“There you go. We trade gifts on
Jesus’ birthday, and Santa Clause delivers presents because
Jesus already gave us the greatest gift of all, His
unconditional Love and eternal life. Plus, on this earth, he
gives us exactly what we need, whether we know it or not. Kind
of beats a belly-dancing Elmo, doesn’t it?”
“But that’s what he gives us…”
“And, we’re so grateful about it,
that even though we know that He knows that we love him, we want
to share our gratefulness and love with those around us, in His
name. We do it with our love for others and with our kindness.
And sometimes, we express that love and kindness with really
cool presents. Does that make sense?”
“Ummm, I guess so,” said Joey,
unconvincingly. “But, how come we write letters to Santa Clause
instead of to Jesus?”
“We do send letters to Jesus,
Joey; of a sort and all of the time. They’re called prayers.” |
