Santa Stories

It happened at a holiday party, the kind where lights twinkle a little too brightly and the air smells of cinnamon and laughter. As I was walking around wishing everyone a merry Christmas, a curious teenage girl suddenly turned to me with a mischievous grin.

“What did Santa want when he was a little boy?” she asked, her eyes gleaming like she already knew it was a trick question.

There wasn’t even a pause. The answer came out of my mouth before I had time to think.

“A reindeer,” I said.

For a second, there was silence. Then she burst out laughing, the sound mixing with the buzz of the room. It wasn’t a rehearsed joke, just a flicker of an idea that landed perfectly in the moment. I couldn’t help but smile too, half at her reaction and half at how unintentionally clever it sounded.

It’s funny how sometimes the best lines aren’t thought out at all. They just appear, like gifts falling from the sky, much like the kind Santa might bring himself.

It was a lively dinner party at the San Jose Country Club, the kind where the sun had set and you could feel that comfortable buzz in the room. I found myself with two sisters on my lap and their cousin waiting in front of me, eager to join in.

While I was chatting with the younger sister, she leaned in and confessed, in that unmistakable kid-whisper, about something her cousin had done earlier. Their cousin had thrown an egg salad sandwich at the older sister. She reported it with the quiet satisfaction of someone finally setting the record straight.

The cousin hadn’t heard any of this. When she finally got her turn to talk with me, I asked her about the good things she’d done recently. She gave me a few innocent answers, talking about helping out at home and being nice to her sisters. I just nodded along, letting her have her moment. Then, I dropped the question: “And what about throwing an egg salad sandwich at your cousin?” There was a beat—kids always need those few seconds for things to sink in. I counted in my head: one... two... three. Suddenly, her eyes were as big as pie plates. “That really happened!!” she burst out, completely shocked that I knew.

I grinned at her and asked, “So, are you planning to throw any more food at your cousin?” She shook her head quickly, with this look on her face that was pure surprise mixed with that ‘caught in the act’ feeling—like she’d just been caught sneaking an extra cookie. It’s moments like that, when truth and mischief meet, that always stick with me.

In the photo gallery, there’s a picture of a little girl riding a rocking horse, absolutely beaming, while Santa keeps a watchful eye nearby. It’s one of my favorites, especially considering how things started just a few minutes earlier.

The parents had brought their daughter in for her annual photo with Santa. But as soon as she saw me in the suit, she burst into tears and wanted nothing to do with Santa—not even a glance in my direction. Classic picture day meltdown. Over the years, I’ve learned some kids just get scared when they see Santa, and I tried all my usual tricks to help her relax. Nothing worked.

Luckily, there was a rocking horse tucked in the corner of the studio. I quickly came up with a plan. I asked her dad to take her to the other side of the wall, out of sight, to calm her down. Then I waved her mom over and explained my idea: bring the rocking horse and set it in front of me, facing away. Mom let dad know about the new plan. He was going to bring the girl over, keep her turned so she wouldn’t see me, and set her on the rocking horse, facing away from Santa. Then quickly step out of the shot. I made sure the photographer was ready to capture the moment as soon as the girl was settled.

With everything in place, we signaled dad. He brought the girl in and placed her on the horse without her ever noticing Santa right behind her. The photographer started shooting, and as soon as the girl realized she could play, she forgot all about her worries and broke out in laughter while Santa smiled in the background.

A few days later, her parents sent a thoughtful email. They said they’d honestly thought they wouldn’t get a Santa photo that year, but instead, they ended up with a magical shot and a story to go with it.

When December rolls around, I put on the Santa suit and visit all sorts of Christmas parties around town. But for the rest of the year, I have another gig, twisting balloons at a couple of the local farmers’ markets.

There’s one family I see every year at their neighborhood Christmas party. As I was wrapping up my visit, one of the moms pulled me aside to share a story that made my day.

She told me how, a few months earlier, she and her 7-year-old daughter were shopping at the farmers’ market. The daughter spotted me making balloons for kids at the market. She recognized me as Santa. The mom started to panic just a bit, wondering what she’d say if her daughter started asking questions.

But before she could say anything, her daughter leaned in and said, perfectly matter of fact, “I guess this is Santa’s summer job.”

Sometimes the best explanations come from a child’s imagination.

Sooner or later every Santa gets asked if they’re the real Santa. It’s one of those moments that can make or break a child’s belief, especially when they’re around seven or eight years old. That’s when the magic starts to waver, and the answer that Santa gives can mean everything. Having the right Santa, the one who knows how to handle the question with kindness and a little mystery, can make all the difference.

I was at a party with several families, sitting in one spot while the kids each took their turn to visit me. To get things started, I’d ask each child a few simple warm up questions, “How are you today?” or “Are you having a good time at the party?” It’s my way to see how each child was responding and how comfortable they are being next to Santa.

After a few kids had gone, an adorable eight-year-old girl came up and sat next to me. I asked how she was doing, and she said she was good. Then, in a soft whisper, as if she was telling me a secret so no one else would hear, she said, “I know you're not the real Santa.”

While I’m often asked if I am the real Santa, this was different. She believed in Santa, but she for some reason, didn’t think I was the genuine article.

I had no idea what tipped her off. So I asked, “What makes you say that?" She didn’t hesitate. “You’re wearing a wig,” she said. While my bread is real, I still use a wig since I like having my face framed with those iconic white Santa curls.

I asked her if she could see that my beard was real and she nodded. I then carefully leaned in and whispered in a hushed tone like I was about to tell her a secret: “I’m wearing a wig because I don’t want everyone to know that Santa is bald.” She looked at me with wide eyes, as if I’d just let her in on the biggest secret in the North Pole.

From that moment on, she stayed close by my side, sharing quiet smiles and giggles whenever I told a joke or handed out a candy cane. For the rest of the night, she wasn’t just another kid at the party—she was my partner in Santa magic, and I could tell she was proud to be in on the secret.